Of all things. Maybe I am not as good at this as I think? In a dream the sunflowers turn their faces to follow me as I pass.
Long night on Ohio highways, deer grazing in moonlight, everyone falling asleep, alone in a luminous way at the wheel. You can change the world in six minutes. Even Paul understood that Jesus was in some way the light.
Imagining evil as I sleep. Laying my tongue on the ferns, the whole morning trembling coming. Tears fall, the past crumbles, with what are we left?
What was always going to happen? A long list of names in the midst of which our attention falters, loses place, what does it mean, et cetera. The youngest among us.
A specific loneliness only Albany embodies. Relearning building fires, wanting to anyway. Who doesn’t appreciate a warning about the weather?
The city is neither welcoming nor unwelcoming. I wake from a dream of wind spinners, sparks flying into cold air, and dress slowly in the dark. A morning one wishes they could share.
The ocean never leaving us, somehow always reminding us it is both our father and our home. The moon is not a perfect circle – we know this – and yet.
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