and my heart is spinning around the chandelier,
that I hear an angel singing La Vie En Rose and
I understand every word though I speak no French
and when the song ends, I actually do speak French
to my husband dressed as a high-ranking Arab
soldier with a glossy belt and fancy shield
and I can see the pyramids along the Nile.
I would like to say that now, nothing will ever be the same.
Ahh but most moments are twins with identical words,
left and right ears and eyes and hemispheres,
getting on and off the same bus,
watching or ignoring identical sunsets, being as we are
in our habits not all that different from pigeons.
Not to say twin moments don’t have power--
beautiful and awful--
not to say they don’t bring tears, awe, platters of sweets.
Only to say they make the past near impossible to remember.
Only that it takes work to lift a moment from its trance
into those high places where clouds take shapes.
It takes thinking more like lunatics to begin a pilgrimage,
to become a Roman Catholic, to take a hike with someone
who brings out the gypsy in us, to prove something to ourselves
beyond a shadow of a doubt, to try another new thing.
I'v heard there are all-night bonfire parties on the beach,
that there are people who need our help, and if that’s
not your thing, there are “laughing at death” societies.
I want to sing now: Moon river, wherever ever you’re going,
I'm going your way.
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