Blue stones in their place, blank gestures upon a cutting board. The sun shines in through the windows, past the square wood and its attempts to divide the light. Morning comes in groups, in bucket loads, this is the summer house.
I awake in my new space, this new home. Not a house of cards but a steady place that will hold my mind in its wings. Here, I don't have to cling to anything. I don't have to hear words of irrational self and its tendency to crawl out upon others.
No, not anymore. Here, I will learn to know this place well. I will learn to know myself well and I will read the words of Amis and work in the nursery. A youthful ground in which I care more about the needs of others than I do about my own daily weavings.
Long light blue dress, touching the floor and again I'm drawn down the stairs to the kitchen window. The light makes sense but I don't deserve it. Again, again, I prepare the cutting board, hands ready to gesture in the familar, because that's what they know.
lying on the floor, crying out for more.