daisies & lilies make nice in a vase. bud studded, the trees already. three white vehicles in a row turn into the curve in an accidental procession that i receive as a sign to respect the purity of chance. the sky dangled above our crib, pillow soft & baby blue, is an infant's blanket to keep us sentimental. crow clans abandoned the afternoon, no doubt knowing the gorging that was to come. a mass evacuation of consciousness as the light weakened into a glass that could only hint of lemon. i stepped into its absence as if walking along the exposed floor of an about to tsunami sea, shopping its damp, previously concealed bed for gifts just prior to the devastation of its violent unfurling. we darkened down at the beginning of the year, like a baby so new we couldn't trust its paternity. a lone crow struts across the wet street, wings tucked tight like a general's hands clasped behind his back as he surveys the battle scene. a young woman's smile competes to outshine her bright blue sneakers keep interrupting the overcast's dull gray drone. a little slick of oil spreads its wings just before tip off, a miniature dracula who glides down from mossy limb to join its pecking coven. clouds dispersed by hard smiling sun. a flowing coffee dark mane dipped in bronze appears, then is gone, locked inside a box of wheels, i am given only her departure. yet another crow conference in the leafless tops of the tall trees, i can count all the attendees, as a well met murder reports the plan. near noon, streaks of undecided shadows dripped along the street. this time fill, this minute heap, this screen, this page. insouciant crow waits for the last second to hop out of the way. i had plans to ignore the maniacally inflated super guacamole day. i would pelt them with pits if i could. another crow saunters past the broad window as if to ask, do you have anything for me? fog crept in when i wasn't dreaming. raining lightly but not light, we made ourselves at home in these conditions and then did everything we could to alter and disrupt them. lulled by the illusion of a solidity that seemed to last, it was always precarious here, it never stopped, but we didn't care, the pause long enough to hypnotize yet always poised to unleash its change. you are not safe. this is not steady. the unreasonable will happen, has happened, is happening, now. the need for more beckoned cataclysm. your bloom was always brief. we came here seeking life and announced it with flower. petals pronounced the word for us in the language of color. strolling through a museum of longing, admiring its collection of husks, only ever haunted by what's not really here, the mind abhors its empty halls, its echoes & shadows. walking upon what has died while those who walk upon us collapse upon the dead they walked on. cemetery upon cemetery, pregnant with cemetery. fake you's falsely occupy the waiting room. this plural is not we. i watch him wave past the windows from inside his music. we won't look back at what we've done. the bark accepts noon's sun filled kiss as a gull intrudes like a sheriff at the scene of a murder. swimming through my lens, wings stroke the shine, while inside, horns continue their lament. light reaches them like the hand of a ghost. it is the reaching that keeps them in between, always almost touching, tortured with longing but never warm, just something cool across the cheek. another brush with absence. i took my conscience for a walk.
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