[like a phoenix of the sky]

skin tingling, coldest blood not quite reaching hands and feet. soft vortex in diaphragm. not a black hole. no, not a black hole. not strong enough to suck anything in. not even dust. just air. when lungs cannot take in oxygen, soft spot expands, lets in life. loose link. moment of strange vulnerability.

And there is a moment of clarity: slithering down the drain with yesterday’s mask washed from the face in milky soap bubbles. Fatty acids in the brain shave away the little details in the softness of sleep - the coating of yolk on tongue, the caress of breeze on eyelash, the scorch of sunbathed tile on toes. Coyote howls at the big paper moon. I am so content to share those forgettable moments between the mountainous ones with you.