and every moment is a great ball of iron that wraps itself, coils itself silently, slowly and sweetly around my neck. forming and foaming, collapsing and corroding. everything in every piece, momentum after momentum. and every moment knows itself, solves itself and surrounds itself. acknowledging, nudging with a tap of the tail, pushing with a tip of the hat. 

 

and these visceral sacred swashes of time. and the sacred feeling is never encapsulated in any one thing- rather, an amalgam of pure sensation. 

what i miss of princeton in the summer is a sheer moistness in the air that seemed to radiate from the grass and from the trees, a green humid bubble of earth wafting life into being. 

i miss the taciturn look of the sun as it blinks out at me, telling me the orb is still spinning.

i miss my mother’s soft peach laughter bouncing off the granite of the kitchen.

i miss my brother’s large, obtrusive hands that seemed to shake his words into cohesion.

i miss the rough dry grass that pounded up underneath me as a child. backyard promises to bark.

 

i miss, i ache,  i craft, i crawl…i know i’ll spend the rest of my life here. Never quite home, never quite away- just beyond the fence…on another branch of the tree growing upwards, upwards, upwards. 

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