It Could Also Be

Just the place you’ve been looking for. Here, there and everywhere. Amongst flowers and seeds falling to the earth like raindrops, like feathers floating down down down into some sort of wrrreckage of twisted metal spines. The breath, moving slowly, oscillating even, round and round in circles as it floats past something that may have never been seen. Pushing beyond the limits of comfort into a place where the silence speaks. The words, lost amongst berries and flowers and the buzzing of spring bees. We sit and watch and wait and he says a word or two. She says something back. It goes on and on like this until the fear strikes. Rapidly and without warning. Pacing about in a brain so stopped up it could just stoop on the front stoop all the day long.

The way you look tonight is on the radio and I think to myself some thoughts I don’t share. I take back promises I made and hold them far too close. To the hip or chest or any which way but out, out there in the wild abyss. The far reaching sentence. The way we once were. It just stares back without any warning, just sits and stares with its two or three little eyes. So hard to tell from this distance. It is palpable, the it is. Whichever one may wander along into certain trapped doom, but then work its way out of the crevasse. With a lip tilting accent so difficult to comprehend. But we listen anyway. We hear the words being spoken. Yes, in this very moment now, beyond the now that was when now used to be then and then became now and we tumble forward on sticky legs, the hairs all twisted together amongst the caps of the knees. “I’ve been here before,” says one to the other. A simple chuckle, a sigh of relief. The recognizability and the comfort that comes with. Just standing right beside, like an old wife in a pretty dress. It is long and beneath her knees. Nearly reaches her elbows and her ankles. The size is not listed, it is hand made. “A fine garment,” she speaks into the mirror’s microphone. The crowd awaits her every word. But she keeps silent. Silence speaks. It speaks of the love of mountain and walking and legs and wind blowing just enough to keep this layer on. Thanks and thankful for that. “You broke her heart,” my mother would say, but she had no idea of whom. Who, wandering around downtown, has a particular handle on the type of sleep one needs to get in order to function on a daily basis. Oh, hi hi ho ho, we shall see, where we walked from the trees to the rocks to the improbably white sands of eternal. The figuring it out.

Like a puzzle piece hidden between two rocks. The only victim is the seeker. The only love is to fall asleep into our sleep. The gratitude is believable, I’ve seen it. Which e’er way you turn, be obliged by the spirits of that turn. Another language must be pursued. All of which, we can end the world and hoping enough of that was real or realistic. The door is open and there is light on both sides. The sleep is coming beside the eyes sinking back into another space. The time is right, the time is right now.

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