9.21.22

Yes, this return to now. There's a room here, with just enough space for you.
The floor hasn't been swept, but there isn't too much to say about anything.
Here you might find a place beyond understanding and misunderstanding.

The words are visitors, lovers. Suddenly there are tears in your eyes. This time of year, the wind picks up a chill, like the hand of the ocean reaching across the world to find you.

Your hair is longer than anyone can remember. The breeze traces a path along it, gathering like a breath at the base of your neck.

There's a book propping the door open.

I still haven't read it but it remains there, between things, letting in just enough light to write by.