where_rivers_run_icy_and_strong crOwl come with us where we walk and the tracks of spring returning birds are preserved in mud like poetry recited by trees and written by robins. where our dog makes us proud with his obedience, denying his urge to run in the woods, chasing the scent of rabbits who hide, snickering at his restriction. where the sound of rushing water is a song with but one word: live 050405 ... one wrecked angle i walk and sit with yet another someone, and i watch the way she moves, the words she chooses. how close to the water will she clamber; what will she notice, and what thoughts will boil (without heat) to the surface, matching the waters at our feet? then away, we rest on thighs and ankles, probing the secrets of poison delphinium. 050405 ... c r 0 w l and together in this hardly winter we listen to a voice loud as night wind, telling us that further along what we know exists the test of endurance. what warms is what matters. hands first always. 080206 ... gja And what about when the air is unseasonably warm? And that icy water runs strong? From far away? And you stand in it with your brother. And you both sing holy holy. And you cant imagine it there? Even though they always said "..has a good imagination." And you realise that is a metaphor. For not knowing what the fuck is going on. That is, keeps talking about it. Like its real. Only its not. So here is Sam. I'm picking him up from school. And his teacher is saying to me: "Gee that trip to Japan sounds great." And i'm thinking - oh fuck. And that loveable creature is nodding at me with his schoolbag hair from around that teachers waist to get me to be complicit. And I am. Oh fuck yeah. I am. Icy and strong. 110831 what's it to you? who go blather from