a day to call your own

the day suits you. cool with overtones of grey. it is gentle, yet if you look to the trees, you will see their edges shaking before coming to stillness.

if time and space are no indications of reality then I am with you and you are me. and we are both curled into arm chairs, wishing the slats had enough boyouncy to keep us floating, or would give way so we could disapper. we could flick the pages of the book my mother bought me to console me under the fluroescent lights of the shopping centre.

at least it is not a hot day. the light would be too scathing then, would show up more of what should be left to the shadows. with no clouds to protect us from omnipotent eyes my recollections of catholicism stalk me around the back yard and along bitumen roads.

when we see to much we go blind.

better to bask in the softness. to shelter beneath layers of water. water breaks softly. leaves no marks on the skin.

in this unmarked skin i will wait for you, catching droplets of water, whilst you hold up the sky.