another sentence

I remember something more than now: waking up to lightness and feeling less unwilling. hope. a new day was a chance before it was a sentence. maybe it can be that way again.

another bridge

let the phone ring out. I am trying to remember how to build words for thoughts to land on. they all pass like water now. maybe all we need is another bridge to fall to make a dam.

unfinished in the library

my brain is not my friend again. we’re both fed up with one another, close encounters in such close quarters for too long. I leave thoughts unfinished in the library to lie under a tree.

when I close my eyes I could be sleeping. when I sleep I’m only fractured dreams from waking up.

no standing sign

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. 

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. 

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.

coughing

clocks keep coughing up days and demands I can’t meet. clouds cry and I need to wake up.