The daylight stasis is released into the rolling tide of dusk, bee-line reasons and blood sugar debates. The shine sticking to the wild leaf and the wicked bottle fly, the last moments of daylight spread between the tall trees and the wide horizon. Wed to one thing, then shed of another. The sweat beaded on burnt flesh cools in the rising wind.
There is no denying it. The words can be bled, the meanings blended. Explanation and excuse can dance arm and arm in the busty street. The things said can not be undone. It is the nature of how nature unwinds between happenstance and mind. Every day sows some future reaping of regret. Every day ends unrequited.
I wash my hands, feeling dry despite the deluge falling into the basin. I dry them, feeling like I am wearing gloves of paper. Energy conserved for the long downhill slide. Inertia impacting both the stillness and the ride. Again the dose of plastic letters. Again the trembling of hands very nearly at rest. Everything happening just in time for the restless night.