on Bond

I wake in the middle of the night, already afraid of being late. In my dreams, horrible events in deep dungeons reenact impending holocaust; what is my unconscious trying to say of bravery? I did not do well. When my alarm rings, it is still dark out, dawn crawling like a long, slow, stretch into morning, and everything is silent. Ride a reverse commute in stillness, the sun rises over Brooklyn and everything smells like coffee.

We sit in silence, committing to our arts and dreams and a moment of solitary companionship. A young girl stands on my blank page, reaching out a hand and asking for a boost. I remember again a land that built itself inside me, characters I've loved and places I thought I'd take us all when the time was right.

The time is always right. And for the first time in months, again I am too.