{linking the disparate dots}

day 12 with no meat (though I did eat cheese & bread yesterday; what do you want from me, I was starving and in a mall-type situation and pizza was the best of a series of bad options.)

also very little poetry. hm, poetry... protein... connection?

the strange thing is, I don't miss meat at all, except as a convenience. if there were drive-throughs offering brown rice and steamed broccoli, I'd be set.

anyway,

For the Fog Horn When There Is No Fog

by Sarah Hannah

Still sounding in full sun past the jetty,
While low tide waves lap trinkets at your feet,

And you skip across dried trident trails,
Fling weeds, and do not think of worry.

For the horn that blares although you call it stubborn,
In error, out of place. For the ridicule endured,

And the continuance.
You can count out your beloved—crustaceans—

Winking in spray, still breathing in the wake,
Beneath the hooking flights of gulls,

Through the horn's threnody.
Count them now among the moving. They are.

For weathervane and almanac, ephemeris and augur,
Blameless seer versed in bones, entrails, landed shells.

For everything that tries to counsel vigilance:
The surly sullen bell, before the going,

The warning that reiterates across
The water: there might someday be fog

(They will be lost), there might very well
Be fog someday, and you will have nothing

But remembrance, and you will have to learn
To be grateful.

(from "Longing Distance," Tupelo Press 2004)