To what do we clamor? Towards what do we seek?

What could there be beyond that of necessity?

How many false starts and in how many flashes of latency

can one so spectacularly end?

Upon what can I truly hold, in any sort of infinity?

To the extent that I encounter this idle absurdity,

that I feel the sinew’s tear, that I bear witness to any and all things,

I am aloft! To nothing, I am debtor.

Bonita serves as reprieve.

Of the knotted hands, an easing: a distillation, a tacit, togethering-hum.

The dins and processions of this Earth are practiced but frail.

It is my aim to sing as do the birds, in the morning: all breath summoned, full-th roated.

In so doing, there begins an unearthing.

In so doing, there is a rejection of distresses, of bindings to long-held skirmish.

In so doing, there is a hollowing out, a place made.

In so doing, there begins an in-flooding: an in-flooding of light, an in-flooding of good.

In so doing there is warmth, there is grounding.

I make time for it.

To eat fruit and jump on the bed like lost children.

🌀

May 19 - 22

Nikon “Pikaichi” L35AD2

Kodak Gold 200, Portra 400

TCR Photo Imaging Center, Tempe