Friday, December 18, 2020

Other than a Mirage

Late morning sunlight, snow melt, the cats twitching in their sleep. "Come here, I want to tell you a secret." One floats through the fever dream, holding together a functional identity under terrifying pressure. Letting the car run, filling the freezer with day-old bread. Sprigs of dried lavender and a habit of playing Greensleeves whenever she walked by. Heart, soul, spirit, et cetera. The integrity of acknowledging what one wants without apology or explanation. At last, a love at last. Forgive me for lingering beside Lake Champlain, as if the other side were anything other than a mirage. Pretty going-down songs, other life harmony. If this were anything other than this, what would it be and how would I know?

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