11.6.13

I remember the morning I woke up and said:


"What if the light from these eyes is extinguished?"
In languor, the quicksand of knowing, trapped.
I smell the drying of storm water in the eavestrough
The light mist of dirt that accompanies the cat 
A sticky yellow flavoured refrigerator door
Welcoming and vast and endless and comforting and small and open and scary and liberating and 
and
and