Thursday: and I thought of Summer

by jdavidcharles

There are times, you are quite certain, when
these things don’t matter terribly much—
when the lack of a baton in Basic Conducting

you more than likely left at your girlfriend’s house
carries no Freudian significance, or the feeling
you get when the fast food restaurant won’t let you

substitute a veggie patty for equal price (thus
discouraging people you imagine to give up meat or
at least marring it somehow). And there are times,

such times as these, where the meaning, like the lilt
in the step of the woman in the summer dress or the
last few cubes of ice rattling into water in the bottom

of your cup seems so far away from the thing, yet
so terribly tangled up around it and behind it—
the silence in the face of the one you reach out to from

behind, the meaning that to utter is to distance
yourself further from the one you love, the distance
we carve out of things only to fill and empty and fill

again. The sort of meaning that can’t help but remind me of
that passage from the Tao, the one about the master
obsessed with profit and success, the one who only need

have faith in the world as the faith we have in ourselves,
the one who needn’t hope or fear, the one in short,
who need only love himself: he could love the world.