there are patterns in the rings around the eyes in the mirror. I move cities and make a stranger of myself. we’ve done this before. play the child a while and look for wonder or a landmark. give me a couple years and I’ll get too familiar and run away again. close my eyes and try to listen for a pulse drowned in pink and white noise. sweeping the beach in the wind. there is so much sand and such little sense in the act I can’t drop. I dream of running for my life through tunnels beneath the pyramids and waiting in traffic for my brother to finish a drawing. we watch my flight leave the island from the car. there’s also one of the bikes we rode to the party somewhere. they’re not so common here.
I wake in a bed I built overnight to the choice to do and be more. the house is quiet and unfamiliar. my room still smells of cardboard boxes. I load the washing machine and hope it works this time.
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