SCOPIC DIALOGUE: LOVE you." Every word, every name, every skillful touch of the father's hand had come under the youngster's scrutiny, had been inhaled with the same zest that Adam felt as he found with the boy the pleasure of living. Able had grown to be a man, and as Adam's gaze curled slowly across the horizon he could recall the boy's middle years, when in his youth he had shown the same fire in his eyes that once sparked the lifeless mound at his feet. The forests had been too few, the rivers too short and narrow, and the sky too shallow to satiate the bottomless hunger with which the boy had drunk in life. He had caught the essence of life, learned to see in his father's gifts of sky and water and earth all the secrets of his mother's heart, and his whole being emitted a ray of light which illuminated the old man's aging frame as he looked in retrospect on the flower of Abie's youth. The memory burned slowly and deeply in his chest, until the tender ball of warmth ascended up to his throat, choking his breath and closing out the warm summer air. The boy still ran through his mind's eye, and Adam recalled the exultant pride he and Eve and felt as they raised together a son who shared the joys they had begun a son whose attitude toward life shouted, "I am loved because I love." He had had a brother by then, and had always found pleasure in doing for Cain all that Adam had done for him. His stature had blossomed, and his life set a precedent that caused poets in centuries to come to write: The sun and moon Are not mirrored in cloudy waters; Thus the Almighty Cannot be mirrored in a heart That is obsessed By the idea of me and mine. (Sri Ramakrishna) Adam turned and walked a space, to a rock by the side of her bier. He looked through his misty eyes and tried to push the lump back into his chest. His drawn, leathery face and rippling beard rested in the palms of his hands as he recalled the days they had walked together through the verdant forests, his hand melting in hers, her heart singing the song of the brook. He remembered their nights together under her blanket of sky, his arms enfolding her softness until he felt he would melt into a pool of quiet light. His mind whirled with the memory of those days, and he knew that, HAWK Heat and black greasy roadway Melting, sticking, sweating into shine Up above moves the metal torrent Rushing, Screaming, Loudly belching poison. To the sloping side lies crushed A young hawk in chalky dust and stone, Once madly surging life is clotted, Dryed and dulled, Blending, Sticking. 36 Love has no desire but to fulfill itself. But if you love, and must needs have desires, Let these be your desires: To melt and be like a running brook that Sings its melody into the night. To know the pain of too much tenderness. To be wounded by your own understanding Of love. And to bleed wilfully and joyfully. To wake at dawn with a winged heart And give thanks for another day of loving. Kahlil Gibran from The Prophet He rose slowly to his feet and walked again the few paces to the small mound of smooth, white stones that gently ripped the earth. He held a stone gently between his long, gnarled fingers as he had often held a small bird which had fallen from the air. As he knelt in the plush brown earth that bordered the mound, he said in his heart, "I need you because I love you." He needed her long brown hair, her sharply focused eyes, and her radiant, soft smile. He had loved them with his labors, with his dreams, and with his every breath he loved them because they were his life. His hands were trembling a little now, and the soft beard on his chin was moist with his tears. He had dug many other holes, planted many seeds, and harvested many crops. Often he had knelt in the grass and soil and gazed up into the eyes of the sky, looking for someone to thank for all the myriad joys that filled his days. But today, he knelt with a weighted finality, wondering how his life would fare without the light that had so dependably lighted his paths. The stone weighed heavy in his hands, and as he gazed at it, it seemed to speak to him, and comfort his mind. Hidden deep in the heart of things, Thou carest for growth and life: The seed becomes the shoot, The bud the blossom, The flower becomes the fruit. Tired I slept on my bed, idle, In the illusion that love had an end. In the morning I awoke to find That my garden was full of flowers. Rabindranath Tagore And Adam knew, from that instant, that "wherever Eve was, there was Eden." Once proud beak now angled gaping With lost black eyes staring. Strong wings now humbled, crushed in sharp And mighty gravel. While once high soaring Schreeching, Killing, with talon ripping. Now limply rotting. The gray, broken feathers, once shining weakly flutter in the man made breeze. -Phil Tuckett 37