Start This Record Over

Perhaps is a new and sudden way of being. Like satisfaction not yet begun or some other kind of kindness: a more gentle one? Night makes us all into the middle of something until we aren't anything anymore. The sky isn't any color here. It's OK because consolation is color enough for your cheeks, wind bitten and glorified by the light of the wine in this glass draining toward a better time, a better space. I invented a notion of hell, and you invented a notion of hello. Amazing similarities and bizarrely coincidental snow Like a twig falling from an oak's tallest point, I keep wondering when forgiveness found its way into this world in a time before bargaining and beckoning. It's quiet again and now the sky is a tangled mess of rags seeking out the bored and unwilling. I'd like to make a map not of the land but of the path I took to arrive in this place, a map with no idealized purpose, a map of a thousand airless pines.