cracks

i met someone recently. he's been alone a long, long time. tonight, he shared the story of the lump in his throat --the one the doctors say is connected to his lymph node. it could be cancer, say they.
i ask him, 'what do you think of that?'
what do you mean, answers he. look at the colors on the mailboxes across the street in a row: red, yellow, green, blue and black. isn't that something? it's like that. it just is what it is. and it makes me see those colors more beautifully. and that sign that says 'do not enter.'

i asked, 'but what do you think of cancer, i mean, it's this thing that attacks what wants to live and create.'

well, says he, asphalt is like that to me. it keeps me from remembering my connection to everything. asphalt attacks me, says he. and then there is a crack, with some dirt in it. it's like a crack, you know? it just is this thing that i notice but stuff grows inside of it, you know?

yeah. i say. i know what you mean.

without the cracks, we wouldn't have imperfections. and without the cracks, we wouldn't know just how perfect the imperfections are.

yeah. and without the cracks, we wouldn't know what is separate from what is together.

something like that, anyway.

we're wounded in all the right places, says kd lang. feel it.