Seven Revolutions
Fan hums
restless
& I fail to quiet my mind.
The heat, already unbearable, will be endless
wildfires feeding on themselves
as we watch
& we spin & we spin.
…
I’m on the couch in my office, replying to emails and various comments. The morning ritual, most days. And the same angled sunlight hits the same curtains on the same patio doors, the same way. One hundred years on. It filters through trees around our house—blue yellow green, and dappled and dancing.
But today, I see nothing but shapes.
Dark matter
hungry and shining.
