Pentecost

The night seems to have reached its darkest hour; the sky stretches in shades of deep blue. At the edge of the city, pale yellow streaks simmer quietly, and it's impossible to tell if they mean sunset or sunrise. Perhaps it doesn't matter. It is light.

Stolen lilac branches scent the tiny apartment. It is an eruption of chaos--I am never home to mind it, I refuse to make myself chose sense over sunlight. We go to the water, I swim the hangover straight off my skin, the water is cool, clean, perfect. He drives the boat along shorelines full of people, along little islands where we imagine we will camp out, across high waves and the boat smashes into them, sending cascades of water over our slowly browning bodies. Again that moment's rest from the duress of Life. Tiny beads of cool water assemble in my windblown hair; I laugh.