there is peace
in the time between.
from one engagement
to the next there are seconds
to reflect
on the trees
and the breeze
and the thoughts running
a race in your head.
there is time to breathe
and wait
and write.
it’s never a murder of time--
I dislike the phrase “to kill time”--
but rather an embrace of it’s excess.
like hugging
the extra pint of
ice cream
on your father.
the fall comes late here as i sit with pricks of insecurities salting my thoughts too sharply. the taste (its potency) blazes over every spice of life and numbs reception to all other flavors. God, ea
gently softly fixed we cry stagnant in our offering the way is blocked is fogged over by insert what you will trigger release remembrance the gaze of Light into disheveled corners where any which way
gravity the weighing of objects the weight of thoughts unstrung like dust in the moonlight carrying on unbound for chance at matter mattering to matter to be