Not at six a.m. but a little before, from dreams I wouldn't want to recall (and can't now anyway). After falling to asleep on the living room floor, nodding off so close to your shoulders. Thunder storms, flickering power outage all over town, lavender candles, bedtime delays. The neighbor's dog cried piteously in rain falling, sloshing, so loud. And all afternoon leading up to it, movies. "When the going gets tough, the tough go to movies."
A turn then, a break in the bright shale, to mineral deposits. Once here where dinosaurs ambled, tearing a green foliage. What a splendid splendid sunset. And have you ever prayed with or even about such beneficent stammering creatures? He wrote over coffee he wrote after finishing his coffee. How do you read L. Frank Baum? You begin by admitting that pleasure may be a lot simpler than even Barthes could imagine.
A "moment of your time" is all there ever was anyway. Lemonade seasoned with limes cut thin as museum quality parchment. As shaved ginger through which a ray of the antiquated sun shines. Oh rhyme, oh chime. You so are what I echo.
On a day before the dig that might expose the future dwelling. Obsessed with terrain, magnificence, and what a performance.