An alarm is a way of shaping sleep. The second cup of coffee is like too many commas. A sentence underway, at this very moment. In the near field, deer step delicately back into their glades and I am glad.
Or a cold rain. Holes in the wall left as reminders we were. Cardboard taped over broken panes of window. One by one we climb into the attic and begin to make assumptions.
Oh you, always. "Oddly I am thinking of Valentines." He wrote - and wrote and wrote and wrote. So you see - the gorillas continue their fandango in my brain.
Four, five. He tried a new pair of shoes but ended up barefoot (always). Beer, Emily Dickinson, Herman Melville and the dream of a new revolutionary. The dogs wandered in, to see what he was up to.
Art, as always, a whimper. Whisper. Must I always mean what I say because I don't. Fidelity to what is felt, that memory.