somewhere a lantern burns in the woods.

somewhere a cold blind man suffers.

they will never meet.

There's a grapefruit spindrift on the kitchen island where I’m sitting. The digital clock at the top of my Mac Book Air screen reads 9:16 p.m.

I’m still stuck in the same grade, with the same people, doing the same thing. I’m ready to expand like steam filling a room, like water gushing from a spigot and into a basin. I’m ready to float, or maybe sink.