How deftly the night has settled, how graciously the day gave way. The frame holds the vision while the picture lies flat on the floor. Gathering every step, the steep pursuit alive in the notion, the remnant trampled in the ruckus of remembering. Something so familiar, lingering just out of reach. The fingers fan out from the broken fist, the first intention ringing down to the frozen bones. How want becomes us when empty is all there is.
Somewhere there once was a question. Something to be said against the undertow of all this confusion. Someone to ask when the facts fell down and the feelings swallowed it all. A tilt of a head, a lilt of a voice. Another voice there beside you when all the dreams ran riot. An answer that at least could prove there was listening. A voice that at least allowed a life.
Today there were gray clouds and blue skies. Today the sun was hidden for a moment, then returned to the sky askew. Children ran and played, and the rain eased down lighter than any dusting of snow. Traffic moved in knots and gaps. The radio told stories, and the radio played songs. Some were leaving and others arrived. My hands were cold, cracked and dry. The sun touched everything in sight.
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