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How to make a kite out of a plastic bag.

Fields are more blissful to look at than to sit in. This grass is prickling my feet and I am making a kite out of a plastic bag while reflecting on the angry and frightened child you were in the absence of my arms yesterday morning where I sat in surveillance unable to draw you in - unmothered.

But I took the advice of the credentialed one, gold orbs glistening and lit hair. I have held you since then almost every moment I thought better not to and you have softened a bit, hand over mine but still distant. Perhaps even more.

I had perfected the game of luring you in and have set the glistening pieces and large marble board aside for the weekend - terrified without my strategies - but ready to face the You all these life circumstances had freed me from facing before.

We cannot change our neuroses Jung says, only watch over them. I watch my anger unfurl again, one minute explosion after another over vacuous nothings all before our morning tea. Apparently still dangerous, I hack at our ship rope. Your love wanes, you retreat, I attack once again and one minute later despair that the problem is too large for us.

At night in our tenement we clasp for dear life and drift off, the overlord of my mind calculating the profit, deficit, bottom lines of our love - and conscious enough to hear your deep breathing there stands before my closed eyes, a John I have not before seen here. Here in my dreamworld, where the One I am accustomed to is nearly always destructive if not radiantly sexual but never my friend, I find a jester, set to offer simply what I need. Which is a good solid laugh. As I drift into that old familiar sea of stars, laughing out loud and with eyes closed, I realize I've been given the answer to what I could not have contrived from my own most complex unconscious riddle. The ability, not to drain from you the love that I need, wringing out myself simultaneous, but simply, to first start where it has always existed, which is inside.

5:10 p.m. - 2007-08-06
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