I. Our Daily Dance The waning moon has this hour turned above the crowns of trees, and spilled its liquid light into the yard. So this evening is accompanied by a shadow of sun's heat. The same moon that years and years ago was torn from earth's belly, born from her and borne away …
Yesterday I received, as a gift, a book.
Tangle – Mark Schultz If you could sing the wind, your voice should wear a sighing sound, as if from distant sources you had flown, and half-way through your flight your wings were weary but not yet done. Or a whistling of time through the sieve: divided into strands that strain then stream in parallel …
“No; no, please; no more.” Art stretches on the canvas, the sun fallen half-way round the sky, having sweated its way to zenith, now drying and diminishing toward the end of its day, the end. “But why? I thought the work was just beginning? I thought: a little more color, how it changes from morning …
Pondering the bits and pieces of technology that I am trying to band-aid together before our very real travel begins.