the beating street
asleep. the weight of water shaped
to flakes. a density greater than rain but still the same.
i am neither outside nor placed but finally i can wander.
the plucked resonance of high winds calls
to each apartment. there are knocks at the window
there is sound on the other side of the door that can be alluded to.
kitchen windows are lit and figures at tables speculate coffee.
this is reason. a caffeinated beverage.
i think about changing my voice, exploring translations, coupling with history, rewiring language, leaving familiar authors, putting text to digital, reshaping tradition –
but instead i read about snow and the dismissal of light, a cup to my side gone cold.
sometimes it is enough to just be moving.