Day 1559, knot.
Some ropes
have only one end
~
and the fearless
makes only one good knot
Day 1558, it.
I am afraid
that suddenly
it
will move
~
there where I can’t see
it
~
what is
it
Day 1557, calls.
I feel sharp
and radiant
~
when the sun
is just behind me
~
the cold
calls
Day 1556, momentum.
A balletic burst
from in
side
~
thoughts torn
in momentum
cast
into nothing
Day 1555, standing.
It’s silent
standing
alone
~
in
tense
Day 1554, waiting for.
I lost
most of my
hair
early in my summer
when the wind
didn’t stop
for me
Day 1553, a group.
All bunched up
looking in different
directions
~
but not outside
Day 1552, light.
