revolution and revelation, a different kind of sunday. creaky kitchen tables and dream disambiguations. the air yesterday held the hint of spring in it like a quiet promise: warm under the chill, warm enough to sit outside in filtered sunlight on the back patio at the coffeeshop, faraway car stereos and the sounds of people cooking through open apartment windows. pasting postcards into pages and working on the forgetting. cement bridges turned to dust, a paragraph or two at a time towards the new reality. or perhaps just a book about it.
broken devotions. cars stuck on staircases and the whole world waiting outside, golden light and a wash of birds like a school of fish spooling in front of carved-out mountains. the pushing away and the getting closer to, the torture and the nourishment. the moving and the attempted moving on.