thursday morning. still dark outside, and remaining for another 2 hours. i return to Poetry, which i meant to revisit and then forgot all november. on second click, i arrive at Laurie Sheck: a quiet skin.
The quiet uproar of undone
does poetry feel different in the early hours? or is it me, still not all there yet from the island, still arriving, for 3 days now? i didn't expect this, after all, Lanzarote was just seven days in a place i've been before. but it shows even in my posture - my yoga teacher noticed it immediately.
"you're afloat a bit."
yes i am.
.
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