longing.

often, i long for the simpleness. for the forgetting.
to shake loose from this and become (or rather, not).
for the returning, and erasing power of the sea,
of flight and to reflect the sun - becoming a moon, perhaps.
i'd like to capture the fading light in my fingers,
to paint the dapples of leaves on my skin,
to raise my arms in sky worship - grow roots, sink deep, drink water.

often, the authenticity of my life escapes me,
but these days, these days are the eu-catastrophe,
the bolt of lightning from a clear sky:
to drown in words and wood-smell on cold nights and snow on warm skin.

i never remember to set the grandfather clock
in the hallway of my mother's house and in the evenings,
with the setting sun, it begins to wind itself backwards.