hypnosis , cycling about spellbound.
the mass of all the pebbles in the nearby pond.
when does a stream become a river, a path to walk along
held, facing a well.

listening to a recording
then to nothing. a drop.
showing face for green limbs, air, a lighthouse.
empty but with a latter.
no breeze inside.
silver,
then blue wet on the shoulder, neck, cheek.

when i was younger, i was given a small U shaped tube
to whisper into
to hear my own voice
like a telephone, connecting the distance between my
mouth, and my ear

i listen to my voice.
then to nothing. a drop.

back on my bike i cross the bridge,
empty
my watch is broken.

the breeze carries radio waves to you
touching your skin, the hairs on it, just barely.
the space between your sleeve and arm. empty.

i keep dreaming of arrows,
flying through the air, carried by the breeze
quick but not moving


thinking about reviving this space. wondering how it can be diaristic without being ego-centric. is that even possible? is that ok if it is?
what is it to blog. i admire public personal spaces. it is hard for me to justify emotional ephemera, something about it feels wasteful (of resources, of space, of attention)…but, there is power in reflection, in gentle expression. i am building this space for myself, and for others to experience. it’s not about escaping or denying the cruelties we experience, but creating space to overcome them. to bridge a difficult, chaotic present with a loving, graceful future. built upon that ephemera, upon quiet reflection, denying ego to embrace radical love.
piece of paper that read,thinking about you