We are wasted from this exile. Look at our faces.
But see how this wind heals us and smoothes our sighs. I walked out in the afternoon after it rained, down the sidewalk. I'd been inside so long the fresh air felt like a tossing sea bath for my hair and skin washing my nostrils and cavities clean. I could feel the sun behind the clouds and the wind lifted. I took off my sweater. I walked down the golden archway of locust trees raining golden leaves on me- a private regal moment for me under their offerings of spiralling chocolate pods nested in fronds liquidly palpating the shifting air, while unknown to the city world I walked half a block without touching the cement.
Keep writing. Keep going. I say yes to this ache. I want to touch beauty.
Oh god, I am filled with smoke and bees for you.
