which is it.   am I waiting for the Sun to rise or night to Fall.

this is the part where I’d say something comforting.   if I could.
 
 
beautiful words can be frightening at the same time.

I keep waiting for something to eat me.   maybe being worthwhile, then.
from inside a different belly.   I wonder how prey feel about that sport.

I keep looking for the right kind of surrendering.   not yet.   not yet.

rituals don’t seem to invoke any truth any more.   Fish don’t waste time with thoughts like these.   Swim, just swim.
 
 
he said that he liked my allusion, two hands being a bowl that is always our own.   a gift, you see.   is that the best of me.   one observation.

then gone.
 
 
 
 

there was a man, most alive in the western desert.   observing, following a mountain lion at a watering hole.   he approached when the cat was gone, observing footprints in the wet mud.   then for no good reason, wondered, what if.   turned and there, circled around, behind him now, the lion had come to look himself.   quiet as unmoving air.   nowhere to run.   the man knew better.  don’t even turn away.   one great leap and lion would be onto him.   lion moved slightly left, slightly right.  yes please, look away, an instant is all I need, said the lion’s patient eyes.

look away.   look away.   no, I have your eye in mine, thought the man.

more stubborn was the man.    lion walks away.

 
 
 
 
write.    don’t think.    write.
 
 
 
 
 
 
the rule of predators.   kill swiftly, take no risk.   not that the prey might win the struggle, but the predator might get injured and thus be less able next time around.   death by starvation that result.