repast: bringing home the day

Days like these you could convince me that I am more than a package of flesh atomically propelled in a fall controlled by ten tiny appendages from one point to another. These days you could ask me to sing you a tune of truth or consequence and from between two lips would fall plush vowels and strong verbage. These days have been milk washed and calming and there is no telling where it may go from here. I find myself sketching the answer: what is the anatomy of a day well spent? What is the curve of hip, the strength of hand, tilt of head, the pulse where sinew and vessel meet?

I am that strange performance this morning, younger and more sunstruck than I was a day ago. It is a good life. I know this because more nights than not I fall asleep curled around a smile curled around breathless laughter. And not about someone or at someone but more and more with everything - a sweet percolation of gratitude for the peace of mind that has settled of late. It is hard not to love a day that wakes you with its lushness, rolling over your skin with its possibility a soft caress of hope, kissing the brow with a beam of curiosity. And so I find myself here again, thanking all beings, drawing constellations between my freckles I want to unzip this skin i'm in and dance with those skeletons in your closet. these skeins of silver cloud spun over the city reflect too well this state of statelessness i'm in, burnish me purify my heart with your smile and let me land on something, slip in deeper and look up to the reflections on the surface above me... i am bioluminescent in this shadowland but that is not enough, shake me and i will shine but even that fades with time, diagnose me, network me, tie me to that need and want and thing and still i will slip free of fetters and wander, lust, bound to ramble...

The snow started at midnight, so the beginning in both night and morning, small crystals but the piles keep piling. My focus is here again, slippery and accumulated enough to make you wish your only worries were where the next cup of hot goodness is coming from and whether the blankets are tucked tight around your toes. I am amazed by the ability of a certain layer of experiences of the day that can color all the rest... I spend days savoring memories as biting and seductive as good chocolate melting on the tongue. I can feel these feelings tucking themselves into the crevasses of my cortex and folds of my gray matters - warming the way I look at the day. I am finding some great lesson in these days and of course will have to wait to tell myself what it may be but so be it. I feel more present in my body than I have in ages, that I know. I am learning things from others... just having the time to spend with people is such a different experience. I feel like I am suddenly treading the great waters of socialization with muscles that have been yearning for use all these months of scholarly hermitage.

what are these days like some changeling child left on the front steps swaddled and dear but still a little strange. this morning rose heady and full bodied, with warmth that comes after a night of feasting on the first remains of winter, all curves and promises of blossoms to come and a slight southern breeze like a balm or bumblebee fuzz. and so the seasoning has shifted, a new course is passed around and we will stumble anew into these more brighteyed days - what do we know of those that may look on from beyond these archetypes and evolutions, do they roll with laughter when our paths intersect without our permission or are they constantly sculpting the beauty of the world in a cascade of variation with no sure design but a basket of good intentions...

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here the snow still swirls and faces become new and old as the light changes. i think there is a time in my heart that has stopped ticking for the moment just to see what it sees in this present tense - stop the cascade of seconds and in that still a deeper yearning brews for something sweet and vast to cover face and hands, tongue to toes with unrequited wonder and whispers like crushed blue velvet soft and supple on the ear meant for pressing close and a pleasurable curl of lips and laughter on these winter nights.

there is something to this frozen tundra that wraps the rollicking pace of life in pause, there is a long waiting to exhale that pulses against the lungs, pounding in the ribcage for a new day and a revolution of time with some inner compass that resides on the fourth eyelash of your third eye and still it is all at the same tilt, the same rotation of mind over matter. the oversoul has caught me here tonight, by the hand it would lead me down to the great luminous nothing that has settled underfoot and point to say here, here is labor and forbearance striving to be love. here is the pinprickle of the possible, it is all here in this one sweet place on which you stand.