September again, a lazy river pathway to October. Not much different from August here minus the dwindling daylight hours. I try to drink from the river by dipping my cup. Submerging it time and time again—restless.

Little leaves on the surface and a million dabs of light dance there too. I quickly bring the cup up to my mouth in an attempt to drink from it—closing my eyes in the process. In anticipation. Only to find it empty once again.

I dip, submerge, I feel the water flow around my hands (I know it’s real, I know it’s real) repeating my last steps right down to the emptiness. The lazy river keeps moving and I stay kneeling at its banks in the setting sun—one with the river but never fully submerged and never allowed to drink from it.

On my way out into the yard (always the yard) I slip over the threshold. Shoes slipped on subconsciously. Imprinted habits stored somewhere unknown. At the cliff below the lip of the threshold a pile of shoes and their rubbery texture break my fall but they’re in the way. They’re always in the way. A tangled bunch of laces, knots and, aglets so much complicated than my pair of flip flops. I consciously step on the pile. Maybe out of spite, anger. With this motion completed, I look down at my own shoes only to see that they’re on the wrong feet. Yet, as wrong as it may seem, I leave them as they are.

A reality so sharp that it hurts. Let me be like an olm so accustomed to everything leaving, falling apart, mending itself, and tearing itself apart again that I no longer need eyes to see that which I know will inevitably happen over and over.

Submerged in cold cave water; wading hands--slow moving and no longer paddling about like a drowning man. In the darkness of environment and of loss of a kind of overwhelming sight this is all that matters. A blunted reality diluted down to what is ultimately real.

Round little Mulberry leaves. Park green, mean, and shining like a sparrow’s beady eyes. Smooth edges and veiny leaves shifting under a summer gust. Gently tucked behind a blinding white PVC fence in its little terraced jungle world.

I saw myself in the evening and I saw myself at dawn. I even thought I saw myself as Venus wandered on

I looked down at the soil, at the gillyflowers, at the stock, but their scent was just too cloying so I began to walk

I came across a mine filled with rubies and gold but found the darkness heavy and far too empty and cold

I heard some voices whispering down a dusty road and more flowers seemed to bloom with every uttered word. I heard them getting closer so opposite I strode and I wound up in a field scattered with glass it was only then that I noticed just how much time had passed

I saw myself in the evening, I saw myself at dawn and then I finally realized that at last, in all her glory, Venus had finally passed.