residual

The sun bears west, gifting halos to every silhouette, revealing form and swarm. Incense burns for unclear reasons, scribbling silken lines into the sky. A mourning dove does its part somewhere out of sight, intoning its plain sight mysteries into the firmament. Font and fume, each inhabits and exudes, trees slowing their breath down while us animals pant away. The earth is confident in its turning while the heavens spill over all blue and gold. The touchscreen is vibrant with residual fingers, glistening with constant bother and human grease. From the greatest to the least, the moment blesses each and every one.

It goes quick, this day unladened by direction or consequence. Wake up one moment, fall down the next. The attrition and our ambitions the only traction we have as it all slips by. One minute all sorts of potential, the next back to dust. This is the way of all of us, no amount of care or investment can mitigate this mortal course. Every trick and each treat follows this sparrow’s course. Like the man said so long ago, let be.

Maybe it feels like a movie. Maybe there’s a story that seems it is time to tell. Why and why not weigh the same as the dice toss tumbles. The numbers hold no secrets. The numbers wear no names. We are the flowers of spent stars, we are the earth rolling over as it dreams. The lesson we miss always the lesson we needed. The mark only there to miss. The dreams of love and family, the ache of surviving as your compañeros drop off the map, the wishes for simple pleasures or plain necessities that remain unfulfilled. It’s all part of the bargain, the blanks filled in, the papers signed. We stow our portions in jars and pockets, we squirrel away our luck and swag in our little beaten hearts. The sun sets slow upon the names we wore out, and we steel ourselves for the next measure. Wondering who we will be now that the night is falling and the magic is gone.