There is a still part of the day when nothing has crept back in and I know myself. The air sits on my skin like an old friend’s embrace and I can feel what I am without questioning or second guessing. The danger comes from thinking it will stay, that quiet perfect hazy sun risen moment.
And then it rolls forward. The weight of half a galaxy cradles me so soft that some days I can almost forget it is my burden. I breathe relentlessly against my will, they grow shallow and weak before staggering unexpectedly like an elephant out of my mouth, dragging my heart beats from the bottom of my stomach and forcing them to do the labor of slaves in a diamond mine. Blood pulses out of time with my thinking, reflexively four-four measuring out the pints in first trickles and later in ore hot gushes. And then it is still again.
