browsing: travel photographs of strangers, my old journals
from people i will never meet but these places will be mine & soon. my fingertips trace maps, my feet will print the ancient streets. i am possessive when it comes to memories & adventuring, utterly insatiable for the world. normally, i feel contentative but this winter is the most glowing i can remember. it is rainsnowing, my coat lined with ribbons of purple satin. on weekends i count quilts past midnight, i forget the keys & open late. my life is longings satisfied, featherweight.
this charmed existence is fortune that is built from my own abstractions. (everything happening in the way that it happens.) i am not worried -- problems seem always to untangle, uncomplicate before me. i wear silk scarves, carry only quarters in my pocket, borrow coveted books & dripdry laundry in our bathtub. we have currencies our own - market lattes for fresh marshmallow, a smile for the remembrances of a streetcorner, your words like algebra for mine.
on a costa rica morning years ago, shaun & i lounged in the synthetic bookstore crispness (the emerald scent of jungle, the dog asleep in the rancho). we talked over fresh-grown coffee & she read a poem she had dreamt reading me the night before. it lingers, the phrasing wrapped around all my patterns. it sits on my shelf in a self-bound volume, the pages dog-eared. the cover is a portrait of our great-grandmother.
i am having lunch tomorrow with a new arrangement of friends & borrowing tea-time with one who still leaves me unsure. it will be alright; it will be all right.
this charmed existence is fortune that is built from my own abstractions. (everything happening in the way that it happens.) i am not worried -- problems seem always to untangle, uncomplicate before me. i wear silk scarves, carry only quarters in my pocket, borrow coveted books & dripdry laundry in our bathtub. we have currencies our own - market lattes for fresh marshmallow, a smile for the remembrances of a streetcorner, your words like algebra for mine.
on a costa rica morning years ago, shaun & i lounged in the synthetic bookstore crispness (the emerald scent of jungle, the dog asleep in the rancho). we talked over fresh-grown coffee & she read a poem she had dreamt reading me the night before. it lingers, the phrasing wrapped around all my patterns. it sits on my shelf in a self-bound volume, the pages dog-eared. the cover is a portrait of our great-grandmother.
i am having lunch tomorrow with a new arrangement of friends & borrowing tea-time with one who still leaves me unsure. it will be alright; it will be all right.
1 comment:
'rivers ever so tireless' is whimsically wanderlusty beautiful.
number two & number four will be ours! hennaed-hands holding camels noses in the markets!
(i just need to make sure my parents confirm the dates; you should plan on date-planning tonight! maybe, midnight my time, we can confer via googlechat? would that work for you?)
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