portion of the artwork for Richard Weaver's poetry

Richard Weaver’s Comments

When we engage with the universe, when we are enraged, when we see the cosmos through the wide lens of the Hubble telescope, watch black holes having stars for lunch larger than our sun, we expand our connection with our world, our place in the unfolding of clouds. We do not risk losing what anchors us to this earth though the possibility exists. “Impersonation with moon” seeks passage in the diamonds of the mind.

The elements seek safe passage in the various lights of day. They’re not devotees of darkness, nor ambassadors of Vitamin D. There’s no gossip that links them with despair. They’re adamant that children must be children, just as the various lights of day are magic to a camera’s prismatic iris. They insist that “Crepuscule” is a river never ending, only reappearing when needed. Who are we to argue?

There is an urgency in love that dissolves boundaries, reduces language to essences, and weakens the world with despair and doubt while emboldening. A door closes before it opens. A stranger introduces himself to his wife. She replies, That train left without us. We are a “New World choreography.”

“Autistic boy accompanied by elements of prayer” implies he is doing well, has an IRA and 40 acres. He loves his parade of therapists and well-wishers, is encouraged by those who have posted to the Face Book page someone set up for him, and humbly desires that Silence embrace him eternally before the flames.

What can be said of “Twilight sleep?” A medical procedure of favor. Conscious sedation. A method that quickly reduces a person into a state of painless unconsciousness but allows an early withdrawal from the land of nod. At a cost. It seems. Or so they say. If I remember correctly. The inner door and the outer door open one another. Dark wine flows back into a green bottle. What is memory? Especially short-term memory? What is …?

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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 54 | Fall/Winter 2019