Turn around and the whole night is gone, moon and stars and all. There is the dawn, bright and blue, all awash in sunlit wonder and lists left undone. Open the blinds to let the light feather in, turn off the porch light because the moths have other places to go. Hands in pockets, counting keys and knives. Hands in pockets, counting fingers and the change they made.
The stray cat no longer lets you take a step alone. It traces figure eights around your ankles, walking infinities to your every cautious step. Unlock the doors and take in the paper. Watch the flocks as you try to name each bird by its kith and its tribe. Watch every wing, pretending you have outgrown your envy at their ease. They linger, they feed, they fly. Watching them leave, you know the ones that God has truly chosen.
The questions come unbidden, as burdens and holes in the truth. Yesterday it was the things you put off tomorrow. Today seems like the perfect alibi, tomorrow still another sun away. Your hands are awake, too dry and too empty to carry anything but these daily aches. You speak your first words as easy as breathing. You say something you forgot before you spoke. First words are always lost in the early shambles. Last words never recognized until recognition has unwound. Every answer only a place holder, keeping all the unwanted questions at bay. What beauty to have lucked into--. What a wonder that it can not last--.
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