Eyes Water the Whole Way

Dawn smolders under 5 a.m. ashes. A veil of thin approximations sways as if breathing. What words cannot say. What light beams extend into us with the dim eyes. October departs.

Neve soundboards, Joan Jett, the words “rock and roll” affixed to one another in a way that binds or releases souls.

Breath rises as the dog and I walk against sharp air. Temperature differences feel exhilarating against my hot cheeks. Eyes water the whole way but it feels good.

Circe steps forward for a time and I give her the floor.

More light as the canopy falls apart. We have those moments in the flow and I can see nothing else. God help me.

Sunday cracks open spilling leaves, mist moving towards rain, and sunlight in its lesser form. Lexi calls to recount how the saxophone technician treated her at the repair shop. She is fuming from the scorch marks of misogyny. I put her on speaker and Kyle listens to the fury in her voice and the break in her heart. He has to hear it. He has to see it. He has to speak of it.

We are in a deal, so deal breakers must exist.