The daylight paints the fence in muted sun and dappled shadows, bright strips of blue and green peeping between the boards, music spilling out into the sparrow smitten yard. A breeze stirs the frazzled paintbrush of pine needles as the squirrels pursue their campaigns of plunder and self sacrifice. The dogs continue their latest excavations, hunting a separate tribe of rodents. The primary school kids in the field run laps in screaming disarray, cursing at a twelfth grade level. Another day landing where it may, playing out however these things do. I sit wanting things to be the way they aren’t, wishing that it wasn’t you.
Restless nights break on the stony shores of unyielding days, impatient spring showering sparks of bright blossoms and green stalks. The earth wakes in a ruckus of sudden transformation, trembling and seething with root and grub. Little slips and morsels brushing tongue and fingertips, your sly bones a song I keep singing to myself despite the empty left behind. The passage witnessed in moons and skies, measured in clocks and counts. The loss grows longer with the days.
Box up all the spent letters, put every treasure in some chest. I’ve learned to know my nevers, been schooled up on my place. A still traveler towards the foregone conclusion of the horizon, a sojourner of the mystery unconcerned with the path of no answers. I live in an unmarked world, without record or document. Crows and sparrows and tourist gulls. The turned earth breathes out, star smeared nights shimmering in skins. I pass without proof, the distance curving out of sight. Another moment becoming memory as you become.
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