All winter in your garden the tea rose went on blooming even with the sun so cold and distant. I didn’t realize I was on a pilgrimage until I arrived, still dripping and possibly drowned from crossing the river/channel/sea. You slept like an officiant, giving yourself up to dreams you knew you’d forget the moment you awoke. From time to time your mouthparts moved as if in speech. I eventually relocated to the garden and became its folly. When the sun appeared, I tried to trace my shadow’s outline on the flagstones with chalk, but it wouldn’t stay still. This is what it means to live on nothing.
OTHER POSTS IN THE SERIES
- A Week of Kindness
- Herbaceous
- Crushed
- Breast Man
- Manic Pixie Dream Consultant
- Lord of Misrule
- Lilium martagon
- Cat Person
- Escape Artist
- Provincial
- Black site
- Love Machine
- Lionheart
- The Song of the Womb
- Fallen Woman
- Postmortem
- Floating World (Ukiyo)
- Insomniac’s Revenge
- Travel Anxiety
- What Does the Shadow Know?
- Exile
- Desecration
- Bubbly
- The Comeback Kid
- Outside-in
- Sequestered
- White Lady
- Invested
- Mater
- Blow
- Submission
- Biofeedback
- Public Servant
- Executive
- Specialist
- Officialdom
- Prayer Warriors
- Bitter End
- Riparian
- Cabaret
- Accommodation
- Treedom
- Livid
- Flood Watch
- Iemanja
- Imprisoned
- Downward Mobility
- Sirenity
- Somniloquy
- Master Debaters
- Helene