The Persisting Residue of Grace

I was walking down the street today and thinking of my hero Rene Descartes, famous for "I think therefore I am." Suddenly the 'I am' seemed a constant electric hum rising to a ringing in the ears. It seemed to grow uncontrollably louder and louder. How do I turn down the volume of my bifurcation? I asked Rene the way Mrs. Regan used to query Christ. "Try a variation on the theme," he suggested, "try: I think therefore I love." The following poem is the result of that moment. I added Peggy Lee's incredible version of "Cloudy Morning" from her 1963 masterpiece, "Mink Jazz."

THE PERSISTING RESIDUE OF GRACE

1

I have done plenty of perfectly awful things in dreams

but I never threw

a plate at you

or laid a hand on anyone

or trashed an apartment

Nor was there any reciprocity

of vandalism

on "your" part

since, in dreams, you are me

and I am you

and

we are all together

for the umpteenth

last time

2

What was I thinking?

Shouting your name at you

walking far ahead of me

on a hazy California beach

where you seemed intent on dis

appearance

Even in dreams

people go missing

or are abducted unwillingly

from a promiscuous vastness

mobbed by shimmering shapes

too vague to be promised to anything

but freedom or escape

from the dreamer

3

I promised not to see you in my dreams

except by chance and not as chalice

I could drink from

for deep forever

I promised you safe passage

across a beach so public

you could trespass

without capture or even fear of it

"You can be Greta Garbo, if you like,

recognizable only from a distance

and mis-

taken for someone else

if I get too close."

Such are the rules of dis

engagement

letting hearts embark

in the chastity of friendship

Such are the rules of re

membrance

in a world that is haven

for souls lifted and loose

but never lost

4

The earth was then a second skin

of surf seizing our feet

or sand breading

our bodies

We sank to swim

in deeper meanings

of oceanic contentment

that had nothing to do with wombs

or any embrace less permanent

than heaven's

5

Your breath on cold evenings

was smoke from fires

gently contained and stoked

within us

The moon taught us to rub

two gazes together

to make one light

of love

6

We must practice walking on an earth

whose shine is never faint

and beyond the reduction of its glare

to embers

We must practice remaining on an earth

so hot and inviting to the touch

we become carriers of lower light

as bright and warming as winter coals

We must practice revealing an earth

that is first and foremost a birthplace

where we are still so welcome

when the final trumpet sounds

there is no where else to go

7

Everything

even the most jagged shards

and coarsened shreds

of bad dreams

are harbingers of the life

I never had

before you.

--David Federman, Narberth, June 24, 2010