Air Quality

Here, take the flashlight, she admonishes, the 50-foot walk back to the trailer plunged in darkness, unknown sounds in the grasses. But I turn the flashlight down and look up, and a shooting star streaks across the length of the sky. Unasked, out of nowhere, but clear as day. You laugh into the dark night, your last steps to the front porch a little lighter, even as you don't know what you're meant to be asking for. 

The unplanned day ahead, with endless hours meant only for writing, tell you you already have it in the palm of your hand.

You asked always for unlimited miracles of time spread out around you. It's proving hard to come by. But it doesn't mean there are paths through the thicket, doesn't mean there is still air left for you to breathe.