Plan

For a brief moment, the scent of ripe mango wafts past my temples, like a misfired synapse hinting at impending collapse. Visions of tropical lands build in my shoulders, of Australia in summer, juicy fruits picked fresh off laden boughs, ocean waves within reach and that very particular brightness that burns your retina but makes you smile. I stared into the therapy lamp this morning like an addict, but do you know yesterday I sat in a sunny West Village window and it had the same effect, everything is coming.

The pace of New York sinks back into my bloodstream. I retrieve quick wit from the back of my tongue, remember how to impatient at crosswalks and beam at the skyline from highrise buildings. Last night I careened along the river after sundown and sparkled at every building that twinkled in my direction, don't you tell me this city only takes and takes because it gives at every turn if you let it. I have such strange dreams lately, yes, I wake exhausted and confused but I go to sleep with a smile on my face. I said I loved the American West and here I am, smelling toast burning and wearing my body into the ground overjoyed. Do I contradict myself?

Very well.

I have long since learned not to fear the multitudes I contain.