music: rhineland (heartland), beirut
mood: happenstance

there are oceans of land on one side, fields of water on the other. skeletal trees, a vastness of ice, tangerine skies. the open places build sinister silhouettes against the whithering overhead (the clouded sun is a blankness). train-sitting is transitioning, we are learning lessons about distance. sunlight beads the frozen tracks & brings me forward (bend your body forward!). these days are slight reluctance, of languidity and tea. a gleaming shop has opened beneath mum's office tower, we go home with flowered ginger & ourselves.

hemingway's six word autobiography is: "for sale: baby shoes, never worn." apparently, it is his self-declared best work. there are more literary half-dozens here. this is my first draft: "daybreak: delicate timing, intricate trivials: twilight." tell me, tell me yours!

i am going to spend today exploring kensington market.

lemon-cranberry & coffee morning

now is the winter of our content

setting: childhood desk; blisters of sealing wax, burnt out matches
song: don't leave your pets outside, casey mecija

i make my way away with school finished, plants whithering on our landing, things beginning to grow. the day was orange and of pomegranates useless, secrets that you keep to tell. rumpelstiltskin smiles and when looking down (waiting for lights to change) there will come a newness, a flash. a child, camera swinging, is walking against the stride of her footsteps (course uncharted, sails unfurled, words true).

and the honey-bee buzz of a propeller ride home, fingertips pressed against the moving glass. i am trying to still reflections & make clear (close as the sky) a blurred and hazing surface. the lights form linear constellations against the darkness of ground; christmas dots pool blue, green, red under lemon streetlamps. when we land at the island, i am suddenly afraid we will touch into the miniature snow-edged lake.

there is a charcoal realism specific to this place. salt-foam covers the windows of the bus to finch station and blurred pigeons droop by on passing wires. (slackening mouths, tired subway faces.) walking through the well-locked hallways of my highschool, i am untethered to the people in my still, familiar places. music, english, art and then home.

red, recumbent wheels
feather-weight on the ground
this is a game; a cardboard
cirrus-cloud dream for
tendering imagination.

'do not stand on the wings.'

propeller stung motions,
beating back the space.
a lazy lighting hands that
dream to fledge (we pick
up feathers from sidewalks).
i who would cross oceans,
i will watch while
caravans bring to us
our belongings.

pomegranate scarf, melting heart

music: the sound of snowflakes falling, andy swan
mood: paper airplanes cross continent & ocean

it was arbitrary, rococo, unrelated to current conditions
as a tradition sung down in a ballad, an anachronism of the heart.
-sara jeanette duncan

laughter & tigermilk & latte-art, a plateful of pastries! new one-language words, the eloquence of my grandmother, pin-prick snowflakes. phone calls can cross a country and the distance of our months (november there, december here). lewis is writing the very first song about me & we made up a round for all of our names. the late-discovered death of my favourite writer; our words, our words...

i woke sleepily this morning, rereading "spring in fialta" over coffee and readying myself so slowly. library day: a table with transitioning friends, thoughts & the thoughtlessness of my gnostic notes. i walked all the way down tower road seeking a secret gospel, collecting strangers in splendid fur hats, feeling the wind pass through my hands. orange peels are my only litter; they curl exquisite against grey sidewalks.
you & i changed a coffeeshop so the small chairs huddled around a giant, highseats came level with spillstains. "look! look!" says the girl, a rag dripping to the hardwood from her hands. "i didn't notice," i quietly feign. "but isn't it normally this way?" you say, jumping up to help her rearrange. we are these moments; perfect in themselves. finding this so easy (when i was not waiting) is what makes me pause.