sweet excess

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.

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bearthed

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

whispers of the water

waded to wait wayward we fly past tall buildings of water of living light we know them feel them are them but do not know them as our own we turn obligatory circles whispers reach us and we learn

redirect

amongst the ferns we wicker and scare yearning for the little finger chance to pay us mind our due but overdue is our submission to grace of abundance our invitation to everlasting the times of coming