Good Morning Good Night

The music gently pushes me out of the shadows, out of my encased, somber field of sleep. The sounds come to me like a waking dream, my eyelids are heavy but I reach for the objects placed in front of me, slowly turn the familiar textures in my hands.

I search for more words, the fewer the better, to accompany this sparse landscape. Inadequacies, failings, all these abound. I remember walking along one of Washington’s avenues in 1997, the crisp darkness of fall cleansing my lungs. I was headed to the bookstore, to the bright, clean aisles of poetry and prose. The world was opening up before me. Tonight as I listen to the music I cling to the imprint of this experience. My brain bleeds from the weight of those times.