Leaky Ink from a pen
Dull led from a pencil
Dirty computer keys tapped on
Until words appear 
Without much definition
And even less meaning 
Still tell a story
That can’t be read
That can’t be told 
That can’t be heard
That can’t be seen
That can only be experienced 
And is
Mostly without notice
Leaving us to question
WHAT JUST HAPPENED 
As we bemoan the agony of
Change
but embracing lovingly the
Q U E S T I O N I N G

Everything is plundered, betrayed, sold,
Death’s great black wing scrapes the air,
Misery gnaws to the bone.
Why then do we not despair?

By day, from the surrounding woods,
cherries blow summer into town;
at night the deep transparent skies
glitter with new galaxies.

And the miraculous comes so close
to the ruined, dirty houses —
something not known to anyone at all,
but wild in our breast for centuries.

~ Anna Akhmatova ~

H U H
along with me. . .