kind of

In the depths of the forest your image follows me.

And how are things today? Kind of better?

Kind of.

A category of blueness that shades into different realms. A category that is not a category. The chill of the warm mind, the tangible slowing down, the intangible evasions. Abstract, obtuse intelligence, a second thought. Still life. The cracked reflection tells a true story.

When you leave a place you remember to turn the light off before you go. Same as it ever was. Darkness. And then reality dawns, filters through. So many faces hard-set, a picture of harshness endlessly mimicked, when kindness, well, that's original, one of a kind.

Caught a fish. Thought she was the moon. Sweet she was. Though salty tears. Tender flesh. But bones. Sharp! Speechless. Threw her back. To where she belonged. With the moon. In the river of the night.