October 27th 2010: Goodmorning Ms Plath

Slyvie rests with her earmarked veneer making a horizon atop another horizon.
Years set in motion and put to wordwork
swinging from one inspiration to the next
ended her head
in the furnace of the kitchen.
Her ghostly echo sits with the morning coffee.
I ask myself, What is it about her?
A mortal mother and self murderer.
An immortal American muse.
But no, I am not wishing to say some THING here, not now.
No cumulative overarching idea in the cathedral of clouds
Here wading in the wishing well for departed souls.
In the pause between heartbeats which we always forget,
I forget.