I wonder sometimes if replaying the events that led to this new view is enough. Or if perhaps it compromises the images. Like the idea of the Aboriginal soul suck of a quiet lens shutter. I understand their worry.
I walk the tight rope through these days between wanting too much and not having enough to hold under my growing fingernails.
Having the awareness of understanding better each moment. Watching the patience grow. Watching the thoughts as they march like mice out of a small hole in the wall. The sense of urgency is the mouse, I feel.
I want to focus on the hole, the origin of the thought.
I want to calmly observe the love, from the eye of the storm.
Life is the uninvited third party in this dance of you and me.
I do not want the memories to set into habits, to retrace like cursive in grade school.
I want to dive deeper than I can say or know how to.
You ask me from far away the questions with the weight of boulders behind them.
You ask me and then hold your breath, fear grazes the green irises as we ignore the whirring and ticking and barking and creaking of the miles in between our dusty screens.
The thickness of lips evade the dull ache
Pixels alleviate my hungry eyes
and sips soften the synapses of calculated clocks,
Until, still. Still.