quiet grass, green stone
I love when out of nowhere I love when out of nowhere my cat jumps on me and my body isn’t even surprised. Me who wants to be surprised by everything like a dandelion like a bottle cap cricket cricket. I keep waiting for the god under the anthill to speak up. I keep waiting for the part of the myth where everyone turns into a different bird or the reeds start talking or horses come out of the ocean in their parliamentary regalia and cities grow from their hoofprints. I keep waiting for the bugle and the jackal-headed god to weigh my heart across the river. All this daylight in just a few moments pours itself into darkness. More and more I’m satisfied with partial explanations like a fly with one wing, walking.
Dean Young