i could use the air

I know what you're thinking. I've been here before. I've seen this simple book, the shiny metal spirals glistening in the new dawn, the reduced pages of black finger marks and broken lettering that any child of conscious thought could mutter out between visits to grandmas house and the old creek bed now filled with the dead and dying bottleneck flies of summer.

I know I've been here before, poised, readied drink in hand, thoughts remiss of the good old days of some forgotten dream I thought I'd push ahead of me like some protective projectile. But I'm getting ahead of myself again. You've only just begun to make the descent, to position yourself for the lengthy and sometimes untidy journey of an other's mindfulness. So, we've been here, not this now but the nows before this that were just as full of quiet questions and still life moving, things held by a sense of soft impermanence. Yet I am also moving in similar patterns, direct lines and those indirect ones caught gazing as the sun slides through morning bay haze, the color and shape of trees dissected by power lines and advertisements colored by graffiti and this feeling deep below the surface of my dreams that whispers every now and again to breathe.