cold mountain (54)

enjoying ourselves unaware of the dusk

Dear bruised expectation, swelling over us in plum and mauve: we call you disappointment when we see you on the shins of the heart. We call you a lesson learned when you turn sallow. We wince and flinch from even slight contact after we have worn your sick rosettes a few times. We no longer take midnight walks and always hold the banister going down stairs. I won’t ask for caution, or a salve, or the ability to hold back the leaping impulse toward others and collision that raises these welts and marks. Give me courage, rather, for the leap, and wisdom in the chosen direction. All else…what would life be, if we weren’t living it?

Chinese and English pp. 72-73 here.

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