As the Moon Climbs

A man and his cat

A man and his cat

8 December 2013
10:45 pm

T. —

I’m glad it was a day off for #GraceAndGratitude, mostly because I really needed it to be a rest and recovery day. I woke up with the same migraine I went to bed with, and soon recognized that it was a day for sleep. I ate some breakfast in between taking more medicine, and listening to a ZenCast podcast about identity. But, really, it was just a sleep day.

Even when I woke up in the afternoon, I kind of navigated in haze. But there were some high points towards the end of the day: realizing that Bloom can jump hurdles if you set them up for her. Cheese on toast for lunch with sauteed spinach and mushrooms. Some more Breaking Bad. Good talks with Mom, Jacob, and Hillary. A long bath, during which Andrew brought me ice cream in a plastic bowl like a boat. Some bedtime yoga. And now, restorative sleep.

The Poetry Foundation daily poems have been really interesting recently. I love this one:

Ars Poetica
Archibald MacLeish

A poem should be palpable and mute
As a globed fruit,

As old medallions to the thumb,

Silent as the sleeve-worn stone
Of casement ledges where the moss has grown—

A poem should be wordless
As the flight of birds.


A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs,

Leaving, as the moon releases
Twig by twig the night-entangled trees,

Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves,
Memory by memory the mind—

A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs.


A poem should be equal to:
Not true.

For all the history of grief
An empty doorway and a maple leaf.

For love
The leaning grasses and two lights above the sea—

A poem should not mean
But be.




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