The Ninth Hour

like that I miss the most. 

and I know my days of watermelon craving are numbered. It’s the beginning of the end of Summer. I open the window and turn on the recorder. The rhythm of the falling rain reminds me of many things. The air must have kept all particles of my past thought all these years. I never understood old people who say they are able to live happily because they have many fond memories. Fond memories, I thought were there to make us long for the moment that is no more. Which most of the time makes me at a minimum melancholy. But I am not old yet and it may turn out to be true. Until then I’ll keep missing those days when losing sight of the shore merely meant swimming for new horizons. 

Oh boy am I looking for you. 

.

without ice cream with this brutal heatwave. But surely enough I’ll miss this time of year sooner or later. 

Nostalgia wears a crown of thorns

and leads a convoy of camels

through the desert of the body...

I am its homeless string.

_

everything that happened feels like a dream. It doesn’t feel real. As a matter of fact, I don’t even know what real is. This may as well be me sleepwalking, right? How do I know it isn’t? Well, I guess I know, sort of. But it still feels unreal. The road I traveled, food I had, people I’ve met, and the things I did, I mean everything......But you know? At least you are real, really. I know it. I think I do. That is how I feel. It must be real. 

Emptiness of green, red, and yellow divided us, its hollow shade almost invisible. It smelled like a weekend sunset and sounded like your busy footsteps. The last train slowly slide in and out. With your fragrance faint but sweet I looked up and there you were. Smiling through the window glowing with grace.    

It’s blurry and distant, grainy and vague yet strangely intimate. It’s not recalled or remembered but summoned and tinted. It’s not played or sung but heard and echoed. I wish you knew what I mean.......

An ancient camera of mine stopped working today. It waited for me until I returned to this city with many good repair shops. I’ll have her checked and cleaned and refurbished and loaded with a fresh roll of film. It will be as good as new. I know it. 

to hang out with your cup of tea.

Am I your cup of tea?

We’ll see what happens.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

for 48 hours. Detox weekend ahead. 

doesn’t it?

It’s like a finger snap, a blink of an eye.