To know the frame that bends in the wind, the time that passes without movement, a sway at the slightest breeze, connections that balance opposing weights, a resonance that thrills and threatens, all of these held in tension, a moment before the crash.


I stepped outside today, not the ‘sunshine or rain or open skies or walking in the leaves’ kind of outside. More like the kind where you see yourself in a mirror and you wonder who you are, the third-person perspective mindfulness sort of abstract outside, wondering where I’m going, if there is a destination, casting no shadows, leaving no footprints in fresh snow, unseen, unnoticed, outside of myself, where my body is a country I don’t belong.

Some Days

Some days are kind, quiet and calm, like sitting at the bottom of a pool, smooth, cool, welcoming. Some days lift me up, sustain me, affirm that I am still breathing. Some days are steeped in respect and honor and truth. Some days exist to carry me on to the next day, a string of shiny pearls that glisten in the sun. Some days are easy, lacking resistance and complication. Some days are precious, a kind of clarity that answers the question of why are we here. Some days are few and far between.


I am a palimpsest, a live lived and erased, replaced by the threads of time from another, still me, but twined together, a Gordian knot of trails through a wood where I have traveled both roads. I am both roads, the lesser, unfavored, and that trod roughly by a cruel god.