Tuesday, August 2
from SHOOTING STAR 4 Write out the memories of your life in red-gold disappearing ink, so that it all dies, no lives. Each word you speak dies, no lives. Is it all at once in the mind? I once stepped on a sea urchin, used a needle to dig out the purple spines; blood soaked my hands. But one spine was left, and I carried it a thousand miles. I saw then the olive leaves die on the branch, saw dogs tear flesh off a sheep's corpse. To live at all is to grieve; but, once, to have it all at once is to see a shooting star: shooting star shooting star. (Arthur Sze)