Some of the things we do have
little consequence save for ourselves and our immediate family. When I
began writing on this blog, a few sporadic poems formed part of that
attempt to chronicle family life with Segev. Though not much of a
chronicle since the majority of the posts were subsumed by my commentary
on this claustrophobic life, leaving less room for the few simple
moments as the catastrophic struggles of my youngest son readily stood
out.
Perhaps as a
counterpoint the fewer words of poetry made sense. A spontaneous search
for balance within the vociferous conjugal of altered life, the diatribe
that burns within which seeks to preserve that which is without.