To Gather Moss

The neighborhood was so quiet, but along Hudson Street, all the streetside restaurants were packed with Sunday revelers staring into the sun. The warm air whispered of summer. By the time I walked back home from Chelsea, drunk and full of Easter giggles, it was pouring again.

Last night, I dreamed again of that gigantic basement storage. We rummaged about, finding all sorts of everythings, neatly stacked and stored, filling every cupboard; anything we could possibly need was there. The foundation of a home, grounded in the earth, where nothing needed to be disposed of or sacrificed, nothing wanted for.

Interpretation seemed superfluous, come morning.

(How does that feel?)