It's the fog that belies the Spring day. I wake from strange dreams involving strangers and distant places, a manor, a castle, preparation for a feast, children. All things that are possibly as distant to my reality as one could get. It is my mind in wanderlust perhaps. It is the wanderer in me reconciling reality with the concept of what I desire perhaps.
Friday, April 26, 2013
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
the coffe is slightly bitter until
the sweetened condensed milk
comes through then
I remember to take a moment
and savor awakening before filling
my moments with the promises and
demands of the work day
I remember the simple beauty of
her foot sticking out from the covers
then I remember to take out
the baguette dough to warm and
grin at making bread later in between
slices of work while so many others
are staring at the walls of their cubicles
Monday, April 22, 2013
the morning sun low on the horizon
glowers at me with the heat of a distant moonscape.
mockingbirds chatter on as if they
were cactus wrens atop sharply outlined yuccas.
yet familiar burnt cliffs aren't to be seen,
only geometric scatterings of glass and concrete.
eyes closing, memory's vision open
to towering rust and tangerine formations.
warm breezes rustle tendrils shading face,
fingertips feel raw at asperous monzonite
my ancient castles appear around me.