My own words marred by perilous thoughts of a more sensible journey, purple sun, you’re color blind. The words of a stranger tear apart two more. I bear witness to my own departure; the only one left sitting in the pew – service ending abruptly, four years and four months ago if the date matters more to you now than it did then.
I, brittle, my words a reflection, cannot fill a page. When I do the verses flicker in and out of sight, thinner than the paper I press the ink into, bleeding into my skin more than it should.
I, tired, my thoughts a reflection, cannot starve these hands any further for fear of lack of grip. When I tie my shoes it takes longer than my excuses can bear, shaky fingers threading silk into an apology.
Lately I’ve been spending my days learning to unlearn the thoughts I accepted as a gift, wrapped tightly in your arms, if I run my feet follow ten steps behind, I love you like a run-on sentence.
- Cassandra Dana
in the distance
June 07, 2017
Preamble: This reverie manifested from an experience of going to the countryside after months of living in the city. It is an attempt to express the perceptual encounter with the surrounding rural landscape and the horizon line.
In the distance
the snow lifting in pieces cutting your view into arrangements
in the rear view
the faint country house slides off
Behind the fence and down the faded tire tracked residue of a laneway
you notice the long-passed obstacle of something undone
The snowcapped trees
perpendicular, horizontal, curvature
In that faint house
out in the middle of somewhere
the centerpiece with smoke rising melts the top of a snow stacked roof
while warm bodies hide in the womb
Underneath the bent pine
in the middle of somewhere
And every passed snow trekked trail, rusted down car, dilapidated barn
every animal track and barred up window and door
She won’t give it up though
not today, not any night
her “children” watch you trying to watch them
you are just too fixed on this being somewhere and not just anywhere
The taillights winding down, fading with your imagination
you wander down the snow road wondering
who else would wake to this?
In the distance
you fade out with it.
Photo by @inthedistance
parc butte chaumont
June 06, 2017
I asked if I could take one more ride on his moto,