Spring. In the primordial space of non-doing sitting upon his uncorrupted arse he practices a proper form of art, like looking out the window. She says, "I go to parties just to dangle my feet." To be human is to become visible. Summer. They ride bikes into town and spray-paint purple sparkling lines. Easter eggs with encyclopedias in them. "For you, my pond, it's snowing buttercups." Fall. "But I guess we have to wait." Someone who is a stranger to both of them— someone who is a stranger to all of us— says: 1. Make it work. 2. Hold it together. 3. Provide maximum value. Winter. Something is clearly wrong. And he looks up, and it's not her. … To be human is to become visible while carrying what is hidden. Here we are, nestled between dystopias. America's Robitussin Comedian says, "Putin's trying to echolocate me." America's Robitussin Oracle says to a man at a bus stop, someone who is a stranger to him, "The girl from Montauk says hello." The man at the bus stop, on the anniversary of his wife's passing, his girl from Montauk, who in the dead of winter lit in him an invincible summer, begins to cry. … New moon: A clean place to lay a discarded name. A beautiful graveyard. He opens an Easter egg encyclopedia and in its conjunction with a mirror discovers a picture of his grandfather opening the same book. To be human is to become visible while carrying what is hidden as a gift to others. In the primordial space of non-thinking she dangles her feet. Spring. ___ *August 2024* *This poem is largely comprised of phrases captured from conversation and poetry readings during my birthday gathering. "To be human…" is from [[What to Remember When Waking]] by David Whyte* ![[post-its.jpeg]]