pre departure preperations

the week spins on it's axis. I check and recheck bags. securing memories, locked in paper, sealed with ink. all that i am contained in folds of cardboard. some so small they could be scraps.

i savour the last of the morning. the new day is about to begin

shift

it even smells different.

the temperature dips as the horizon is swallowed by sprawls of grey. the town seems gentler; man mimicking meteorology. mimicking the sky.

my lists truncated. the slow swelling of cycles. looping up and over and down again.

a small piece of pie is enough to sustain me.

no fault line

adjusting to the changing skylines and the sharpness of the light. these days the desert oscillates; coolness weaving between the warmth. we move in unison; the weather and I.

so many snapshots of this yo yo dancing; my heart feels cataclysmic. fine threads traced to the end of the rainbow. we arch across the sky in search of gold.

on reflection these things are seismic. each shock a sign of deeper shifts. somewhere there is an opening.

i peer gleefully into the abyss

tick tock

the morning is an explosion. in the wreckage i find the safe where i'd hidden myself before the bombs went off.

a forgotten splinter resurfaces through skin. fingernails gouge deeper, resurrecting long buried wounds.

the next big thing

i grow sharp with teh air and the sky.

sashimi slicing through should dos. layered thinly on the pallete. savouring each small victory as it glides from hand to mouth.

late night waxing about the meta and micro leaves us smooth come morning light. i move between these circles until they overlap; tracing impressions of venn diagrams on my skin.

my lover returns past midnight.
my dreams find safety inh his skin.

the day after the one before

the storm subdue. the earth dampened. the day begins with softer hues.

big sky dreaming, hemmed by ranges. my eyes search for a single ghost gum. marker on the horizon cut short by the undulation of ancient ranges. despite the elongated lists my heart stays steady, encased in this garden retreat.

despite the barrage of cataclysm and change my soul finds terra firma. washed up on the shores of reflex and reflection, i survey the terrain. this oasis is not an island but an extension of all that has come before.

there are no disconnections, no loose links in the chain. we can only understand ourselves in reverse. i capture these moments in pockets between muscle and bone.

despite my ruminations i am grateful for all that has transpired.

life line

thoughts open to softest downpour. everything is washed clean.

my eyes tire of these green horizons. diasporic longing for red sand and clear skies. the paradox of wanting the rare to retain it's distant shimmer.

cracks turn to gaping chasms depite shovelloads of fertile soil and conversation. that which cures can also kill. and it's still early days....

i retreat. seek self protection.
the life line lays limp in the dust