But Its Gone Now

I figured we were the same. 

The nights are full of strange dreams, dawn creeping into convoluted storylines, where I am neither victor nor spoils. I wake in a strange twilight, like someone raked a distorted symphony of emotion across my chest. How are any of us meant to live a mundane existence when the wonders of the world simmer underneath the surface? 

Along the river, a Chinese man catches a fish the size of my leg, lets it wriggle and gasp until the last breath disappears from it. I find a four-leaf clover in the same green patch where I’ve found nothing for days. A heavy fog lies across the East River. Summer begins. 

You count down the days until you may simmer, 

too.