Apr 23, 2021
dwelling place
the shadows are long now, moon hanging low atop the valley; the places where sunlight still hits are illuminated like characters underneath stage lights
i walk home slow amidst the colors of sky dissolving into the melted puddle of a wednesday evening
the deepening twilight asks me to imagine that this is my life — this porch, these leaves drenched in purple above my upturned head, this flock of birds configured in the shape of forward motion — asks me to imagine that reality is
real,
static, solid and unchangeable, that i will be sheltered beneath these same trees for the rest of my breaths and i simply
cannot
—
"I dwell in possibility." —Emily Dickinson
