6.21.22

A: I'm sorry I haven't been writing.
Q: Who are you apologizing to? 
A: I was busy trying to find the place beyond words, where mercy is, where I don't have to describe anything anymore, beyond understanding. 
Q: The house where mercy lives? 
A: As a writer, I think I want words when I want surrender. 
Q: Do you mean prayer? 
A: It's not the prayer but the deliverance. It's not the wish but your knees bending with want. 

Q: Who are you speaking to?
A: I imagine I am speaking to anybody listening, but in reality it's more specific than that.
Q: Who are you trying to understand?
A: Understanding is what they tried to seek after they realized they were wrong. Love is beyond understanding. 

Q: I once tried to find where you were writing. Where did you go? 
A: I was writing that love was a solitary journey. You must go alone, knowing you are never alone. 
Q: Did somebody love you? 
A: I once thought love could be earned. Now I know there is no earning, no profit, no return. Love is free. 
Q: Did you fall asleep at the door of love? 
A: I did and the wind blowing from under the door shook me awake. 
Q: Did it fall asleep with its arms around you? 
A: I waited for love to sleep and then I sat on the couch across the room to watch love sleep in peace. 
Q: Why did you let me sleep? 

A: Sometimes life feels like a book I am rereading. All of then and now bound by the same thread. And then, this chapter here where I am tracing the words across the page as if I am trying to touch you through them.

A: The street corner where you held me. All the distance before and after. Might there be mercy, mercy, mercy. The weakness in my knees. The semblance of prayer.