I'll go on
like a springboard just a few feet above the ground. When I sit on the floor I imagine the roots connecting me to the centuries of ground. But I live on the second floor of my house. Everything must be imagined. There was cooking around me; not my cooking, but the creation of something. There were several wholes and relatively few parts. Not in the head where I always imagined these things would take place, but floating somewhere else, in a place I also have to imagine.
No comments:
Post a Comment