another day box-like in progression, predictability, oh inflexibility of time– I’d rather an ocean I’d rather that ocean sound that imperfect rhythm constant yet somehow revelatory I know the pilgrim changes it’s not the pilgrimage per se but things are always more tolerable somewhere else
I’m more inured to the risks of flight than the perils of digging in, Exhibit A: the construction pit being filled with light rain, they’ll have to pump it clear again. I dreamed we were buying tickets to anywhere, found this great place on the coast– It’s really winter here, now, the sky the color of pavement, even the birds are bailing out– What a gift, what a gift to have wings, but also to lack the capacity for digging holes
A return to the ground to sow more seeds prayers in a way when they are grown where will I be thinking back on this moment on how far we’ve both come the soil is cool and the morning birds are not alarmed now accustomed to this custom and oh today how it felt like an ending but roots I guess do their best work unseen.
OPTIONAL POETRY 