[resolve]

A carpet cleaner, a New Year, a new clear spot. Fists balled, breath held, heavy sighs and the eyes close. All kinds of music, all kinds of love, all kinds of light and dark. The scripted voice on the radio, the natural voice of my son calling the balloon on the ceiling a cloud, enjoying the cadence.

I hear songs and stories of death. Songs and rhythms of life. Tide at my toes. Cold wind under my shirt. Cold wind in my lungs. Cold fingers and a Chinese satin shirt. These are the scenes from the first day. The lights get too hot. The polarities, the axis, it all dissolves when my eyes close. And reappears upon waking. Upon opening. Upon a spontaneous kiss from my son.

Weaving across the playground, waving his arms in an imaginary tunnel. Songs half sung. Traditional food. The tradition of coffee first thing. First things. A handstand at age two. Calling cartoons "raccoon." First trip to the ocean. First time on a horse. First music put together. First puzzle solved. First fright. A picture of a lion in a book. The death of a friend against the stark backdrop of my son's joy. My first forays into Real Life.

Even auspicious beginnings must come to an end.  Where is the deep contemplation, the somber reflection, the warm clear pool, the dimples and the bright blue eyes that can only be here for so long. Even the lotuses are dried up and gone this week. Out of this winter, out of 01 01 10, I resolve to resonate. I resolve to bloom. I resolve to sing a complete song, not just half-recalled verses and choruses. I resolve to teach and be taught. To write. To make it right. To love.