contemplation of the last few days

Movement in the ether. Old friends re-appearing without herald. A most curious dream. A shift in bases of power. A rediscovered talent. Coincidences.

A thread of music. Explaining things that comfort to someone who wants the truth. A familiar soul in an unfamiliar face in an unfamiliar place. The taste of grilled mahi. A recollection of my last kiss. A brother's question of relevance to my past. The devil in the details, as God is in the big picture.

A new lyric. Finding a line I had forgotten in a poem written so long ago there are children of children who were unborn when I lived it. A new definition. The texture of humid air on a face dry with memory. A small piece of paper on which the words "love hurts" was written by a faithless lover, found tucked in a book I held onto as I left in disgust and triumph.

Cold water. Hot tea. Room temperature juice of an orange, sour and alive like the words of an honest rival. Strength in the touch that is no longer there. An awareness of a vulnerability, made by illusion to seem a strength, at length.

At a distance, the persistence of the deep hollows and the shaded shallows where warm water stagnates for a breath of another person's lungs, taken as sacrament.

This is a good life. I shall linger.