Beginning (Again)

It is spring. Brids sing outside my window, trees green, grass grows so quikly that mowers cannot run fast enough to clip back its bright beginnings. The world is being reborn and I, too, along with it.

I've had a blog before this one. I've written in it often, written seldom, written sad, written ecstatic, written when there was nothing else to do but write. Written when writing seemed the last thing that would help and then suddenly, surprisingly, it did.

The title of this blog come from a Charles Wright poem, Clear Night. It has been in my head for months and is the start I want most to whatever it is I end up doing here.

Clear Night, Charles Wright

Clear night, thumb-top of a moon, a back-lit sky,
Moon-fingers lay down their same routine,
On the side deck and the threshold, the white keys and the black keys,
Bird hush and bird song. A cassia flower falls.

I want to be bruised by God.
I want to be strung up in a strong light and singled out.
I want to be stretched, like music wring from a dropped seed.
I want to be entered and picked clean.

And the wind says "What?" to me.
And the castor beans, with their little earrings of death, say "What?" to me.
And the stars start out on their cold slide through the dark.
And the gears notch and the engines wheel.