because I cannot drift away like that

I am imagining the world across two oceans joined. I am enjoying the many silences outside my windows. I am unable to sleep.

There is a part of me that is so tired, so road weary and dust blind, I hardly remember how I've gotten here. And another that remembers each step traveled, recovers them like sand dollars and mussel shells on the shore.

What to do with these thoughts? What am I but a collection, memory bones, rattling the darkness of my night mind?

I want to write, but feel too quiet. There is a story about deer and islands and bare grass, but it escapes me. I want to dream, but Dream is an elusive bugger, and not playing games with me tonight. I want to be done with what needs to be done already. I want it to be spring.

But why rush to the end? Why reach the heady conclusion? Why turn towards anything but this elemental shift taking place all around me? Why not be patient, be kind, pay attention damn it. And what if?

I have never been so discovered. I don't expect mountains to get up and move of their own accord now, but it's nice to imagine the heavens aligning, colliding world into world, like two oceans joined.