morning dishes

scraping the bottoms out of pots and pans, i come to a place where all things are equal. everything’s naked in the post dawn, pre-civilization morning. or at least unclothed for the moment. i am here at the precipice, before things become hinged and then unhinged. the day will embrace me, i will run my warm fingers down its cold shoulder. i will make promises i can never keep. i will dance with left legs across the landscapes of convention. there will be minor accidents and things that go indescribably well. the law of averages break its own rules for some. but it all gets sewn together in the end, all the loose ends we’ve created trying to gain purchase are drawn together, by needles or persistent hands. problems solved by meditation or mediation. arms that stretch around the earth and hold me against it’s breast. to be close to something that goes so far. to find myself in different places along its path. to recognize where i am and where i have been.

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