Why Bliss so scantily disburse—Up in the Brooklyn aerie, the tiny study off the bedroom, aroma of basil pesto (fettuccine - a bowlful - for supper) wafting on a breeze from the kitchen to here. Well, Dmitri, I guess I misread a lot since you never appeared. Oh well. I feel resigned. It seems honestly to be my fate. You're stronger than me, I would have sinned in an instant. Not that I have except in my thoughts for a quarter-century, but at this point - yes, absolutely I would have. But, my dear, I'm not taking it personally. I'm certain you wouldn't want me to. Does this mean we get to hang out together in heaven, maybe?
Why Paradise defer—
Why Floods be served to Us—in Bowls—
I speculate no more—
I knew no more of Want—or Cold—***
Phantasms both become
For this new Value in the Soul—
Supremest Earthly Sum—
The Heaven below the Heaven above—
Obscured with ruddier Blue—
Life's Latitudes leant over—full—
The Judgment perished—too—
(echoes of Marvell...
As lines, so love's oblique, may well***
Themselves in every angle greet:
But ours, so truly parallel,
Though infinite, can never meet.)
Today was gorgeous, a summery day, well into the eighties. Brownstone pocket gardens and windowboxes are resplendent, flowers in improbable bloom together (reminding me of the fancifully staged Emily Dickinson garden at the NYBG conservatory last June, where hollyhocks, narcissi, and fall mums kept company) the warm weather has come in such a rush - lilacs in concert with forsythia; tulips with daffodils (usually tulips are a beat - a week or two - later); cherry trees ablaze; and at the Greenmarket, annual packs of violas and pansies along with, already, petunias, impatiens, and marigolds.
Which reminds me that I enjoyed recently (via googling) coming across a beautiful photo of your daughter, smiling, eyes closed, serenely and happily burying her nose in some (I hope) fragrant blossoms - loved the detail of the wheels under her arm... young woman on the go pausing to smell the roses - good for her!
I thought of that image this morning at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, as I leant in from a path to inhale intoxicating lilacs in full bloom. Second swoon of my morning, having tried out earlier, as I lay waking, my new toy. Is this possibly the best forty dollars I have spent in my life, at least for a woman in my predicament? Kisses - not yours, not anyone's - weren't there: and yet exquisite transport - le petit mort - a managed life -
A perfect—paralyzing Bliss—***
Contented as Despair—
It was beautiful at the BBG today. Tout Brooklyn was there. Tuesday is free-admission - and everyone turned out. It was heaven on this earth. Absolutely life ought - however, whenever, wherever, and as often as possible - to be organized in just such a way - with scores and scores of people - individuals each, some teeny, some ancient, in stroller or pushing one, or walker or wheelchair, young, old, male, female, all colors, shapes, sizes -- all there having arrived in the little oasis in the borough, combating traffic and earthly concerns and woes and subway trains and every obstacle that is put before us to - all of us on this glorious spring day, arrive at the spontaneous ballet taking place on the lawn and paths woodland trails fountains and borders of this very very beautiful public garden ---- on a Tuesday no less, not even a weekend -- I'm so glad that so many of us were free ---
Love you darling -
One Blessing had I than the rest
So larger to my Eyes
That I stopped gauging—satisfied—
For this enchanted size—