between cycles

The week ends with a languid stroll and an O shaped mouth.

The dust always settles. We know this. No matter how hard the wind blows. Even tornadoes have quiet days. Even cyclones find time to sleep.

We all start as a soft breeze. As a collision of highs and lows. All things spin in the same direction as the water that sucks down my sink.

Relativity is a rational perspective.

I know that as the sun sends it salutations I will spin again. Agitated as a washing machine. Strung tight as a clothes line.