The time is mine. A one year sentence. I am moved four days ago, and now I do not know where I am...
The time is mine.
A one year sentence.
I am moved four days ago, and now
I do not know where I am
Yearning for chimes. What did I touch?
Those cells are shed;
The sentence is young. I squirrel atoms, born to that nest.
The common come and go, now sleeping
afar are the others.
Birds chirp in the city. They tell me I will know the sea. Two weeks of marks
soothed and sanded.
The nut oil soothes the membrane. My Firm ones hold hands, they dine with me, create the meal
vapored and sautéed.
Years cycle, apparently new parents are in style.
Dusted for fingerprints, the new nest holds mass.
I fly because I am flown. The marks tell a story