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darkness pulls the moon up,
cut in line with the stars.
night falls from her and showers my skin:
i feel like laughing - almost.

dreams recurring and when interrupted, pick up where they left off. perhaps conscious reality is just this, at a collective level; i am an r.e.m. fragment within some other beings wave length. a butterfly's - i must have read that somewhere. i imagine a turtle or seahorse. a dark ocean lit with only jellyfish.

nocturnal sine waves - squeezing between window and wall, humming along my skin,
calling. flight for the sake of flight - for the feel of the wind - i watched them,
all summer - large birds; i feel them now, loose and splitting my heart seam.

merry go rounds most always feel faster to the passenger than the onlooker.
the passing blur of world on a travel weary window's underside. a traveler of the in between

... going and coming - i wish i could choose to make it happen or prevent it: pull a plug so i drain away - but only when i choose.

creped mysteries dropping blossoms. the air snaps amidst otherwise inaudible music, swelling out from the evening's red light, healing the air that felt all scraped up and tuned to static during the day; healing my bodies broken rhythms. drowning music drawing ghosts from the dying. such a small sound - a sigh alone can fall across the whole world and shift its orbit - knock a season clear off the calendar. no one misses it. stories must be told to stay alive.