Raymond Soulard, Jr. New Songs (for Kassandra) - The ...

65
She has disappeared within me as I approach her, days left now, mere days, til the
cataclysmic moment, the timeless immolation of touch on touch, breath in breath, what
cannot be named once but an infinite times
All my worlds will come together at this moment of faith exploding, new life joined, &
Rebecca will not return before then, she will return with the explosion—
OK?”
“Barkeep”
“Yes?”
“What’s wrong with him in the corner? He’s writing something & moaning. He
“He will be. Another?”
“Sure, thanks.”
“This one’s gratis.”
“Why?”
“So we can toast him being OK”
“Ahh”
“Cheers, bud”
“Cheers, barkeep”
The raw confession these stories have always been will become rawer still in the coming
days. I don’t care if they’re read or understood, if they survive me—
I am nearing my profoundest moment yet of being—April 2, 2002 at the Greyhound bus
station in Portland, Oregon. Meeting my true love, wife, muse, twin flame
I can tell no other story til that moment—I can only tell of going there & what happens—
fixtion is for now truth unprettied—the pen is steady & hopeful—my heart is true—my Art
is devoted to her—
What comes next few days each hour a surprise, a hunger, a star briefly mortal & grounded
before passing on—
Months, & this page stayed blank. Now, & continue. The mingling of my lives until a
gridlock, pen mute, sheets thirsty—
Now, & movement—
“Rebecca”
“Raymond”
“You can hear me?”
“Yes”
“Where are you?”
“Here, with you”
“I feel you, & don’t”
“Yes”
“I’ve not lost you?”
“No. Nor her!”
The Cenacle | 59 | October 2006