I thought of the moon, and there it was, stuck halfway up a tree. A blink of an eye, a half a breath, and there goes the sky. It’s as easy as the thinking, it’s learning to watch what you see. Run amok or pay attention, it tends to average out. The pointer or the pointing, the lake or Li Po’s moon. There’s only so high you can climb, no matter the forest or the mountain. There’s only so far you can see, no matter what you’ve climbed. Here comes the clouds, there goes the sun. Here the winds take up the banner of the night.
Set a spell and draw down the stars. Stay a while and ink in the night. Lines laid down in toil and tradition. Lines pulled out the hat. Just the being to keep us busy, we dabble and we gossip. We flirt and flit and plot. We rise and we show our tails, the words all laden with tricks. Time goes on and the world goes with it. Better make it like you like it. Better make it like you mean it. At least it will feel like a reason. At least it will pause there when you wonder why.
Look, the moon does just what it pleases. Look, the mountains move whether you tell them to or not. There’s the seeming and the say so. There’s witness and the world. Talk is cheap, and such big portions! Talk is cheap, but it’s a living! Seen and done, and moving as if one, we iterate the iterations walking straight out the sea. The imagined and the incarnations, the story to each deed. We ape blind the intentions of the divine, livid incantations skittering through the skins, stacks and stacks of giants entombed in all the climbing. This bitter magic, this endless forest.
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