If you ever lose heart and the earth seems as distant as stars fading into the noise of your busy mind, know this. That a tiny island exists in the blue hands of the ocean. That a tree grows upright into the salted clouds. That two eagles love each other enough to spend their lives greeting the morning sun together. That two eaglets stand in their nest, gazing at the heavens. Looking down to the forever ground. They eat and sleep and flap their wings. And one day in July, one by one, they will jump into the air. They will know the difference between existing and what is beyond. They will hold onto nothing. The hurricane will come, courage catching their pinions on fire, as they mount the wind, climbing ladders into realms of the invisible.

--T.L. Stokes

Sunday, March 7, 2010



I asked him if he remembered himself as a child,
if there was anything luminous left in his eyes,
if he could see any joy, and he could not.

So befuddled, we let our hands open,
not knowing what it was
to let him go.

Into the field of horses
we watched him wander
picking the one to him
most beautiful.

I saw him mount
and nudge her on.
Cantering, he ripped
the rags he'd worn for years

in sadness,
too dark for some
though lived for music,

and suddenly lighter,
he and the horse
as fog climbed higher.

The ponds of clouds
seared by the face
halved themselves
like wounds

and grace became a wonderful sky
for the boy, the horse
still as if light

for Mark Linkous of

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