The conversation begins with smiles and knowing understanding then breaks, or shatters… the surface splinters letting what flows beneath freely rise in currents and settle in undulations… the stream of words slip across the now shattered ice surface of personal projection... I look at my watch not for the time but for the reflection… Yes, I am still there.
Midnight MSN messages pour… momentary lapses in conversation flow in eddies like the river’s edge… there are halos in the waters and depths… hot beverages and the slowly rising steam streams up from the depth of cups… I type in whispers… the threads of conversation disappear into a failing light as the last remnants of spider webs…
If we, through motivation unknown drift…
as we, at the touch of the unseen, bend…
should we, on the breath of the wind, rise…
With what manner of light shall we illuminate those around us? Are these the bright feathers of angelic wings or the drab greys and browns of the common moth?
She is small and distant huddled alone in the dormitory room… I am small and distant huddled in my rooms… we are joined through the thin strand of uncommon thought… we are abstractions singing the body electric… all the while for each a river flows… cold ice waters of passage…
With a light and gentle hand I touch the screen and wonder….
I enjoyed this very much because I felt tugged between worlds. There is an outside/inside sense to things that I love. The journey on roads under your feet or through invisible wires. All, like magic.
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