Unkind

A weekend disappears in wordless breaths, in avenues yet undiscovered under desert suns. Evenings are cool in the Intermountain West, forgiving, they wash you clean of your sins. At night, I stared at the sky looking for answers in the Milky Way but its wisdom was hiding under a cloud cover, perhaps that is an answer, too. Later, he sends poetry like a meal, like overripe allegory dripping between my fingers, and this avenue feels familiar. Do I walk it again, regardless? Do I tread these well worn paths, see if I can make them lead in new directions? What is it they say about doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. 

I have forgotten to expect outcomes at all. 

The early summer slips from our fingers, the long nights and cool waters. When can I go into the super market and buy what I need with my good looks? You can feel something brewing inside of you, feel words and phrases and dreams unravel, realign. Feel a space being made where the answers might fit. 

Make space for the notion that they won't look how you expected them to.