Jul 102016
 

Take the time now, they said, walk freely, they said, towards the light where virtue belongs.

Neatly, I said.

I was wrong to be serious.  I was a nudge in the face with an innocent smirk.  I kept the stove lit, wondering, how, for what, when birds soar to such an infectious state of generosity, tumbling to a dissipating state where anchors ridge drudgingly down towards clouds neat like cards.

Now, I think the words are written long before the moon can insist on epic heroism.

Then, I did not presume a future so kind.

Just keep the tired troughs ticking, I thought.  Word the methods and hold fast to the necessaries.

An avalanche of merriment, I trembled beneath my feet, flying among clouds of the tritest trope.

I remember galloping onward into the night, holding a lasso and thinking, oh my gosh, I can fly.

I was right.  I really can fly.

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