Dec. 11, 2008
Why is Bosnia rejecting me and Boyertown reluctantly claiming me as it's own?
My army coat becomes heavy as my boots spring a leak testifying to the nature of this night. No starlit sky or waxing moon to illumine the crescented minaret. Just angular rain stiffly annointing this sorrowing head. As I walk, enjoining my senses to this hour of discomfort, grabbing ahold and letting go of my vision is expressive and experiential. Following the lead of Lenape lane, I cannot help but wonder if my now leafless outstretched form will survive the fall of winter to realize passion's rebirth. What I know is failure and talk and my words alone are dry tonight.
Words won't save me or change Bosnia.
Do I really want it? Will I embrace this suffering, these trials of the storm? My ego prefers a sonnet but my soul assures me of the power immanent in this broken free-verse.
The storm cannot kill me or keep me from Bosnia.
Nov. 12, 2009
Time is understood today by the passing of the clouds, exchanging minutes for moments, a cooler now sunnier appreciation of her presence. Sarajevo's before me, along with bridged river, rocky and woody chasms and gracefully proportioned and situated gardens of sacred memories. I realize again what this city means to me as a friend appreciates another. She has everything and yet almost nothing. Her intamacy felt; otherness cultivating that flame of discovery. Playgrounds next to cemetaries and places of worship married in space to the devil's brewhouse. A transient cloud now dwarfs a cosmic sun as I feel November once more.