Tuesday, August 15
AN APPLE PIP after a few words in Paul Celan A breath-stealing, blood- thickening heaven-heat comes down on us when things are worst. Some concord that even a calendar with binoculars could not see from here might be attained, yet the same infinities of the unspeakable that we’ve tried to end, or at least apprehend fully, before now, move nearer to us all, and we remember that our local cosmos always arrives to contort and twist our insufficiencies and seethes with nearly numberless moral aches and flawed actions, and yet we search for a light of good intent that might bend in the not miraculous dark as it gleams on one shiny apple pip. (Reginald Gibbons)