March 12, 2009
work in progress, 18
Afoot, the town glittering along the wires, yellow lights, and the stars above the roofs where corrugated tiles stack one upon the other. A door ajar. The midst of it populated by a man sitting alone, head turned, the rows of bottles in the light behind him, a mist of smoke. Everything vibrant while he stands in the street and looks. A bat or swallow. The sky. A sense of coolness already and motionlessness except for the thin beads of light wavering on their wires. He imagines the heel of his boots on the wood of the porch. The hollowness and change as he walks through the door, but stands resolutely in the dimness of the street. Awash in its dimness, the light from the stars, and imagines the fear of people drinking, everything calm in this moment, the surface of things, wandering in the pockets of his coat, trying not to look, then succumbing and walking this way up the slope of the hill. Reaching the top, turning, and looking out to see the spire of a tree and below the town laid out and the lights of the town a yellow glow and the stars with their immense depth a certainty like sweat in the glare as he stands and licks his wrist. The immensity of space inside him, mercifully, closing his eyes as he walks in the dark with the sound of his feet finally on stone past the door of the tavern with the lights on the wires shining comfortably and his step on the stairs to the room that is home.
“Dear Theo.”
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