Wednesday, December 11, 2019


Dear Mind,

You are dear.  Without you I'm nothing.

Often with you I'm almost nothing

but you tell me that I can't really

conceive of nothing, so you instruct me

to use "almost" up there. When I first learned

your name, Mind, I was a child.

Your name was not one of those words

that interested me. It seemed like other words

for things, like car, sidewalk, leaf.

Except unlike those things I couldn't see you

or ride inside you (it never occurred to me

I could) or walk on top of you or watch you

turn colors and fall. In many ways both of us

miss those days, days that if there were no school

were sometimes fabulously unending.

The nights were rarely as good, school or not, since

you made me so afraid of the dark. Yes, I'm

blaming you. And whatever parts of me

are not you

also deserve blame. So here we are, both

67, truly approaching the dark. You suggest I write

"truly and falsely approaching the dark"

and there, have I satisfied you?


John Levy
Silence Like Another Name
otata's bookshelf