A still point has been reached. The windows are left open for longer. The seasons turn and a new light enters my rooms. But my heart is lost near the Roding. ‘He sings time in the darkness of times’. The song of joy and sorrow is always with us, Mir.
Where have you been?
I’ve been to London.
Where have you been?
So hard to answer without the human voice. A disembodied sentence, as if we were two ghosts [talking] to one another!
What is left to say in the time that remains? Can one really grow in silence, as Maggie Ross says? The background silence that is the stability of time in our lives, and out of which form the necessary words. If there is time there’s forgiveness. God has infinite time.
The pattern, the warp and woof, joy and sorrow. Who weaves?
The original lines
C. Forche.
She sings time..
[where?]
The lateness of the world.
The lines unattributed: Mir: The song of joy& sorrow.
In the small hours. A reply, of sorts.
