Sunday morning: pancakes, bacon (covered in maple
syrup and baked for 20 minutes), coffee ground fresh from

oily-dark beans, juice, an early Will
Oldham album, and family--that is, four

very different energies (5 if you count
Will, 6 if you count

neighbor noise, the way, maybe
John Cage would, 7 if you count

John Cage, his imperatives, 8 . . . 9). When we are
all the good things we might be, my loves,

I hear an ancient harmony that doesn't mean
anything but sound, perfect sound.

It lasts a short while, the shortest while,
and then we forget it and chase it, forget it.