Waiting for when the world looks sunless; trees framed dark against the background. And all the time this ringing sound like soap in my eyes to my ears. Like moisture that wicks away in rivulets, cascading to a flood, eventually, way down river. So this is what we do -- these are the things we say when saying has no effect. Not now but later, way down river, where things seem settled and the slow water rises like a heartbeat in the night, like eyes that cannot see. We sleep instead to slough away this sadness. These dreams interrupt our waking thoughts somewhere we know we will be again. Not on the same ground but in the same water, way down river, out toward the sea.
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