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[05 Oct 2012|12:18am] |
| I think (on what evidence?) that they are different from us. That they mate and are done with mating. They don’t carry all this half-mated longing up out of childhood and then go looking for it everywhere. And so, I think, they can’t wound each other the way we do. They don’t go through life dizzy or groggy with their hunger, kill with it, smear it on everything, though it is perhaps also true that nothing happens to them quite like what happens to us when the blue-backed swallow dips swiftly toward the green pond and the pond’s green-and-blue reflected swallow marries it a moment in the reflected sky and the heart goes out to the end of the rope it has been throwing into abyss after abyss, and a singing shimmers from every color the morning has risen into. |
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