doors through

and in there
is the me who is watching her on the barely closed insides of my eyes marching down aisles in search of some knickknack or another some piece of something that's why she made the stop that's why it's here instead of somewhere else she is. and soon, on these little eyelids, she'll be dancing down the rows and filing past the signs in some other store, dropping off a package, picking up a thing she doesn't need, but wants and that's how it gets where you can sit back and say "this is life how i want it folding crumpling bits of moments that keep on turning keep on turning like the yesterdays that mean more."

and maybe when she's elsewhere she'll rest a moment or stop for a coffee or drop in for a drink: sizzling little seconds, she lives them.

certainly soon enough she'll be traipsing up the walk in a new little errand world the list halfway down and footsteps mark the passing of steps into possessions into things she'll make hers if all the life falls out of things. she is the changer sometimes of objects to memories the transformation that makes a thing (weak as trees) into some new kind of thing a thing that enhances and turns the day into happiness and all the trembles of happiness that come and move the earth around.

and so i watch her, simply, on the projector of my mind, and think and think and thank because she is always settled grass she is always burning fires she is always draining cups she is always afternoons in the sun...

2008-03-15 | 2:04 p.m.
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