the supermarket swarms a little after dinner time. I tie my bike to the pole with the no standing sign. pigeons mind their own business on the sidewalk, a couple dozen or maybe more. someone thought to leave them a bowl of water, though they don't seem to care. I watch them peck the ground and under their wings. I wonder what I'd do in their place. they take to the sky and I take out my phone.
little consequence
laughing in the liminal
Thursday, January 22, 2026
Tuesday, January 20, 2026
rolling over
I stop and hold the boulder for the other ones to pass. sidestepping or rolling over? out of sight and focus either way. I let the other cyclists overtake, watch them speed through amber lights into the setting sun.
you call a little later from a room on the street I used to live. something else to miss and help commiserate my choices. I take you to the creek and let the stream surround your voice. time is water only ever passing out of reach.
Sunday, January 18, 2026
echoes
tides take time but everything returns. the cat comes back to bed. my thoughts come back to you. are we only ever always on our way home? waves with dreams torn from seas now rolling back to sleep. can we hope for more than echoes? I can’t hear much more right now.
Sunday, January 11, 2026
Thursday, January 8, 2026
tea and doubt and fear
we wait for my brain to start working again. patience wanes a little more with every thought. I move slowly between tasks and expectations, slipping back into a childhood haunt to hide behind. outside the clouds keep moving with the headlines I don’t read. time spoils in cups of tea and doubt and fear. I think about regret and lose another day in limbo. I brush my teeth and hope for dreams of being someone else.
Thursday, January 1, 2026
compost
I watch my taxes explode into the sky
different colours
golden rain that sings
beautiful and brighter than the stars
the people cheer for time’s passage out of every open window
holding hands
crying for more
I decompose slowly
and take a photo with my phone.
Saturday, December 20, 2025
forgetting
but another day is just another day. and nothing needs to matter with my eyes closed. I lie on the grass in the sun and listen to a score of so much more than me. the clouds roll off into forever without waiting for permission. I think about joy and forgetting myself on the path to her door.
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