Hölderlin’s Song

In ordinary time we’re found. Habits free
of thresholds, words loose of hymns
—singing saved for other times.


Images open, impress, seal—save. A kingdom of the feminine,
a salvation of the human profession
—all work become coruscating vocation.


Closets and calendars still hold our contents, our memories
and memorabilia, still our proof of living
—customary time, without leave. Only vision comes.

And then?

“Men have learned much, from morning on,
For we are a conversation and we listen to one another,
But soon we will be song.”

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