It’s been a while since I’ve been there,
a patch of light to clear the mind,
a breath of air,
cold slab
stone to sit on,
hooded jackets bulging
with apples,
and emptiness.
Silence is the turning of the leaves,
bootstraps caked with mud and dung
and thin ice in the shadows of barren trees,
oak and sarsaparilla,
waiting for that stillness to begin,
quieting the beating wings
inside me.
That small place,
those dark blue skies
illuminate my need to be alive,
away from noise and thought,
a solitary walk,
alone,
ingesting my own silhouette,
to know, to bear, to feel, to welcome
nothing,
once again.
hinarising 