It’s the day after our conversation - will it be one of our last? Somehow I doubt it -

the heart

knows and knows and glows and glows and goes

God goes belonging to every riven thing he’s made

Writes Christian Wiman -

God goes in this heart

pump, pump, pump & a

thump thump thump

The new year is upon us in Irish. Here, we make-believe Halloween - which is poor form - because we ain’t going into that middling time - we ain’t getting ready for beasts and our fears of the dark - we, the ever present first sun seekers of the world are in pure golden light - we see ourselves reflected back by spring’s glorious splendor - by birds in their thousands and by fresh salads

and

green, green, green

Landscapes all rising from winter’s sleep.

We are alive down here - not a thing dead about us -

So where the war is is in our hearts just like the real wars. This is the birthplace of all great passions and all great evils.

The heart is the battle ground.

use your heart as a weapon, it hurts like heaven

You have a point there Chris Martin.

Wind blown night. Up at dawn to batten down the greenhouse doors - but now, utter stillness.

Just like that afternoon in bed with you, when we talked of children - when the war began.