Visions outside 

Billie Holiday 

Everything's made of light 

Toronto streaking by in the rain 

OUR LIBRARIES

Well, it's looking like we may have NO public library system in WNY. The legislature has to vote on a resolution by midnight tonight and they are fighting and can't seem to compromise. If they don't find some common ground, then the massive budget cuts made by the county executive will take effect Jan 1st.

We already can't take out any more books, as of yesterday. I cannot imagine how this could happen. Who could possibly let it happen. It's politics as usual. First Bush gets re-elected and now I'm going to be living in a place with no philharmonic, no libraries, and likely, no chorus (of which I have been a part for 10 years).

I can't imagine a reason to stay here if we don't even have any of this. What the hell? I am too disgusted to even write anything more.

Up in flames 

The angel Gabriel 

Allen Street as the sun goes down 

Nativity scenes from around the world 

Me and Mel, reminiscent of other mirrors and times... 

Me and my new car (ha!) 

Mel mapping out our gallery jaunt today 

Torn

My song did not come
to draw Ahmad the blue
in the trench
Memories are behind my back,
and he is the day of the sun
and carnation
Oh, ye boy who is between
two windows
Do not exchange my letters
Resist
Resemblance is for the sand...
and you are for the blue...

From AA's translation of Ahmad Az-Za`tar by Mahmud Darwish

Cleaning

Scrubbing baseboards
is what I do
can’t write
can’t think
-or can’t not-
about your little ragdoll body
in my arms
that last car ride
as David drove through fog
and my deep heaving sobs
your sweet face staring
back at my pained one
I could see the reflection
of myself in both your green eyes
told myself to remember
that image
me in you
surrounding me
who thought such a small
chirp would bring such comfort
and then grief
who knew that all
I would be able to do
after three months
is to clean
sweep out corners,
one by one
your tufts of fur wafting
out of hiding
as I kneel
this cleaning a prayer
the only one I can muster
still seeing your prone body
breathing labored
the wave sweeping through me
then and now
my guilt at what I did or didn’t
all pointless now
except to move me through
this loss of you
kneeling on the bare floor
tears staining clean my cheeks
the wooden slats
not cleaning you away
just clearing the space
so I can see you completely
everything pure, you were
and are
to me
still.