through the smoke & to the sky

listen: mr. tambourine man, bob dylan
look: a poet, a painter, a candlestick maker

it's bright today, so bright that the icecream melts into a puddle on my way home & we walk down the fat tightrope lines blurred wet by winter tires & snow. "all day i have been in the world in a way that i haven't been in the world forever," i tell you. i think about how ours is a recessed strangerness, one with very deep pockets. but here we are with glowing & the feeling of brick & sun heavy on my back. the sky yielding to february eyes, the stretch of a moment into permanent blue.

i lay on my bed all afternoon, listening to "middle cyclone" as if it were a book. my love, i am the speed of sound or a foundry of mute & heavy bells. don't let this fading summer pass you by. counting clouds. drinking peppermint tea. enjoying the luxury of the lost habits. we watched a japanese movie about the cupola-interior architecture of a spanish city & then i read some fairytales. life in this city requires integrity angled and implicit as the smallest bones of your feet.