A LOVE SONG OF SORTS

The nasty stabs of breaking pens against this pad of paper remind me of lesser moods. It'll be some pages yet before the marks have all been thrown away. Or kept. Yesterday, I had a good conversation with an amazing young woman. Some of it was silly talk about sea-creature Halloween costumes: "I've heard the mermaids singing." Some was loving, about the elegance in the flicks of her wrist. But the most important bits were of us and what to do with us. Though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed, I felt I had little productive to say. Luckily, an energy between she and me spurred my feeling to word. I may be a bit crazy, but I'm no Prince Hamlet. I'm just trying to be a nice guy: deferential, glad to be of use. (At the risk of being obtuse.) I like to think that I'm aware, cautious, and meticulous, and I admit to being ridiculous, and even, at times, the Fool. But I know we can make it through. We just need to work out the pages with the stab marks and get back to a fresh start.