The strums of his guitar
fall onto his lap

Trickle down my lobes
a steady dripping tap

When can I be alone?
When am I really by myself?

Even the term 'by myself' implies that you are 'by' something,
With yourself.

Like the self is something external to you.
Someone you can sit next to.

I want to be truly alone, without myself.
I want the wind to brush past unfollowed by thought or recognition.
I want no one to know where I am, even me.

I need to be without myself,
Far away from myself.
I'm just so relentlessly 'there'.

The freckled yellow flowers
Smell like a breath in
Roots braid and knot the ground
Mange begetting rainbows

A thousand leaves palms up to the sun
Indifferent of the rain
Weathered are the paths that led me
To my mother's garden again.

I took time for a walk
And she pulled on the leash
At first, I kept my ground
Heels lifted tip-toeing arm outstretched
Eventually I had to follow my shoulder  

She led me past streets and streets
Of large houses full of large people
Symmetrical windows and faces
Coarse grass reached through my shoes

With a slow jog, we came to a field
My feet landing in every crack in the pavement
The sun sat square in the centre of the sky
As we left the sky turned to ocean

Running now through neon and road signs
Swimming in the dark rain
Puddles splash as we pick up the pace
Diverting onto the road

My 20s were a flurry of leaves
On grey morning ground
I know I have much further to go
But. I'm already halfway

My 30s were a sprint
My 40s a still faster walk
50s, 60s, 70s
We finally slow

I wander now
Between each step is an infinity
But each foot fall
Passes in an instant

I walk closer and closer to the evening sun
A shadow extends behind me forever
And the way reaches in front of me even longer

My love is a Wednesday morning
His love is a hug from small hands

But you can't hug a day
And small hands can't cook breakfast