Instead of a bird it's football
Are you still contorting yourself?
Instead of sensing I google it
How would you feel, right now, if you were entirely alone?
Instead of safe I'm on edge
Are you willing to deceive?
Instead of a future it's ending
Where is your anger?
Every shining sentiment.
Every palpitation.
All limerence. All loss longing hope —
Every coming and going.
Every severance.
For many months, so few pictures
In the ones that do exist, we're never looking at each other
You've been walking in circles, your foot soaked with pothole water, sock gritty with asphalt. It only becomes a labyrinth when you become mindful. Then it's time to find your way out. By the lake, in autumn. It takes longer than you'd think. The blossoms have fallen from the stems of the hydrangeas. The wind picks up. Sand compresses beneath your sneakers, then rises behind you. The water is beautiful. The mergansers seek food inside the water; their diving is beautiful. The mountains containing the water: dappled gold, and beautiful. The trees, so many of them, drink the water. They are beautiful. At each dead end you turn into a new beginning.
Where they may, where they may, where they, they are falling. I remember I am remembering I am remembering myself remembered. I am remembering how much has been lost. I am remembering she who strode knee-high in the silk dress. I am remembering her convictions. I am remembering her belting out on the streets of Georgetown. I am remembering what the Torture Machine has sucked from the soul. Come what may may come, what is certain is that you need a break. You need to find your stride again. If you read it back it's all there. I'm not a fucking bunny.
Is it always this way at first? Has it been this way before? In the beginning, was it like this, also? Will it similarly change? Am I capable of saying, with certainty, that this time is different? What if the memory of the other times simply has faded? What I mean is, is it possible to practice discernment under these conditions? I mean, is it even possible? Don't our brains and bodies operate autonomously, at least at times, from the witness? Can even the witness be fooled? In the woods, beside the creek, on the crescent rim of a deep, silver pool: Are you supposed to observe, if such a thing is possible, from the water's edge, perhaps dipping one toe into the buoyancy, and then, if it proves reasonable enough to do so, another? Or are you supposed to tumble into it?
Waking early, I didn't mind it. Brushed my teeth, splashed cold water on my face, I didn't mind it. Foraged for a matched sock in the mound of unfolded laundry, I didn't mind it. Pulled a dirty pair of work pants over my thermal tights and didn't mind. Messed up the ratio of dairy-free creamer to coffee and didn't mind. Drove to work, joined my friend in the woodland, thick thorns entangling me, I didn't mind. One by one, I pulled them from my fleece until I'd stepped free of the snare. What's the news? Yesterday I napped for the first time in seven years. On the drive home I was singing.