slowed

The seeds were scattered, and so there’re squirrels. The math isn’t that hard. You could do it in your head between punctuations. You could call it from a mile out. The sun warm despite the clouds. Just a slowed moment, all dog and dash. A montage of greatest hits, eyes closed, the heat of your skin. This is the daylight into dreaming. This is the still in the gutters of the world.

Even something here amounts to nothing, a breath,  a respite, some time in the light. It is all that it could be, another page replete with invective, another string of hapless impacts. All the steam and all the smoke, the silhouette pine needles shimmering on the pavement, the Pixies on the speakers and coffee in the cup. I smoke on the shore of no tomorrows. Engines and axe stroke, out with the dogs when the cat comes back. 

A sip of bitter coffee, the bite of heat and steel, the price to taste this kiss. Another deep breath as the battery fades, with the breeze all ice and fingers. Another long drag as the flags fly half mast, the world worn down to bare bones and exposed wire. Bernstein’s Ohio and tractor mower rattle, blue skies and scrub jays. The afternoon drawls and lounges, the words tumble on, the heart knows when its beaten. The empty so much more when you feel it. The stillness alway stirs.