Tomas de Faoite to Sue Ann Simar, Correspondence

sue all time is limited, compressed,
when I look on my life there is none of it left,
it is all just another day, another again,
i seek no solace and nothing can shed
its essence, or justify its value,
i have no interest in truth or credo,
i can't lean my arms on a pew anymore
and look to the ceiling and see the hand
of michelangelo in the stretching out
of fresco, cracking, peeling off
the world that is turning out of tune and time

and all your artworks, the house top heavy,
and all those pictures probably still in wraps,
looking towards each other, and your husband
the fisherman, knowing where the river opens,
casting from the shade into sunlight; his feet
in the undergrowth, up to his waist in reeds
and salamanders. let him cast and cast again,
and do not be downcast about it
if nothing bites on the dullest of days

Saturday, May 23, 2009