May 8, 2003

Exile
By: Hart Crane

My hands have not touched pleasure since your hands, —
No, — nor my lips freed laughter since “farewell,”
And with the day, distance again expands
Voiceless between us, as an uncoiled shell.

Yet, love endures, though starving and alone.
A dove’s wings clung about my heart each night
With surging gentleness, and the blue stone
Set in the tryst-ring has but worn more bright.

                    

I had dinner with Phil last night; it was good to see him. He’s a busy guy: a large family, house, and department keep him pretty busy, but he always has time for me when I’m in town. As usual, he proffered his place for me to stay whenever I’m in town before I left. I told him that I might try to make it down in June after I pick up my BMW, but I know time will be tight, so I’ll probably not be able to make it back for quite a while, unfortunately.

I talked with him about my job and life in Macon. While the job challenges and it’s really what I wanted an expected from academia, Macon does not offer too much for the thirty-something, single, heterosexual man. He offered the potential of securing an instructor’s position at USF, but moving back to Tampa for a temporary instructorship seems a bit like moving back in with your parents—somewhere to retreat when you fuck up or otherwise have nowhere else to go. That is not me. Must think higher while giving Macon some more time.

                    

I ran on the beach again today and was able to go a bit further and stronger. The sun seemed brighter today and the wind less welcoming, but I had energy to expend. I’m trying to enjoy my last full day in Florida before heading back. Giles and Amanda should be coming up tonight, too, for dinner. I like visitors.