Precognition?
I barely have post-cognition —
which is to say, memory.
I have memories of memories of a world that never was.
Cobbled together hopes, dreams, and fears made into a montage of me.
One could chip away at what never was, but I’m not sure reality could support it’s own weight.
What was might end up a toxic rubble, steaming away into nothingness.
bitter winds
slice down from the north
so bone cold
damp air sinks
hangs as a cloak of cold
a straitjacket
starry skies
viewed through tent flap crescent
arctic outhouse
cold awakens
each moment, a moment lived
satori by ice
brisk joy
the skater’s frisson
feels electric
In the silver slips of morning,
fog draped across the land.
Shore definition is fleeting;
no glimpse of strand from strand.
Yet ducks and gulls fly by the nose,
quacks and screeches lend a hand
to we blind few who lean on sight,
and, hence, have lost the land.
Taken on December 19, 2019 in Budapest. Budapest (Vajdahunyad Castle)
contrail-crossed cool blue skies-
contrails catching hints of some pink-orange hue
amber sunlight sails in sideways,
so all surfaces either glow warmth,
or hunch in dank shadow
no foul winds blow through the cold air and cleansing rays, so the city is psychically scrubbed
bold buildings and muscular mansions age with a grace rarely seen in our kind, but known in the weathered silver-hairs who draw envious glances to their last breath
even the haunting neo-Gothic rooftops and grotesque gargoyles only pull the city from sweet to charming
Taken on December 18, 2019 in Budapest.
at the seashore
breath syncs to lapping waves
sea teachings
in between
the inhale and exhale
lies stillness
a breath missed
life takes a moment’s pause
mind is void
slow the breath
drawing each instant out
slow your world
breath control
lets one drop the sails
in rough seas
