Before falling into sleep,—

A cramp in my leg deepens in the night.
Brendan slept, coiled in my arms today.
I wake to pain as a phone call from the past, the voice heavy with regret.
The cat slips once more into heat— the air heavy with her bodily changes.
Tonight I will dream if my right hand wounded; the air thick with scent of blood.
I planted a yellow jasmine outside the bedroom window— its vines sensing the trellis immediately, seeking support.
Part of me wants to write another prose-piece on the Greek god Pan— another part of me wants to sleep.
For the most part of the day a bitter resentment grew stronger: I am not living the life I expected when I was younger.
98/ […]

99/ […]

100/ […]

101/ Before falling into sleep, Pan sets his clock an hour ahead. The moon rises in schedule, motioning across the windows, with a heavy refracted light.


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