Let the River

I woke with the stirrings of a dark cloud in my belly again; it lingers always now, ready to move at any sign of weakened defenses. The dog by my feet did not stir, she is too old now to worry about any of this, what does she owe life. I struggled through morning tasks and paperwork at my feet, while the temperature rose and rose outside, the streets growing muggy in confusion: tomorrow it will be cold, they say, tomorrow this will all be over. There was summer still, right outside these strangers’ window there was sunshine and warmth and I decided if I could do only one thing of worth this might be the best. I ran to the train, I ran to a dozen trains, everything is so far when you long for it but suddenly I spilled out onto a bright sunny boardwalk in queens and when I saw the ocean, would you believe I cried. How can I write what I know when I am all questions, I wrote in a poem once, but do you know, I’m starting to think I am a lot of answers, I just haven’t been paying attention. How long I have spent homeless, how long I have spent searching for that which will hold me, how long I have tried to hold myself, spinning into infinity with nothing in my hands but grains of sand and castles of my own delusions?

I know what home is, now. I know the trick to sleeping soundly at night.

You can’t tell me that the breath of summer isn’t worth something in the depths of fall.