Silvery & Brittle
of morning does a special lay down and die thing.
Everyone needs to get away now and then to place
where the kitchen hums in a different tone than
back home. A place where the body feels relaxed
perhaps because it is contingent upon some
imminent death. The staples are all in the sheaths
of paper, giving a real sense of purpose to
the morning. The birds all flit around the sugary
water and tiny golden seeds. The sun hits the breast
of a male House Finch and for a moment it looks
like its been lit pink from within. The skittishness
of birds makes me anxious, I do not find them
relaxing to watch in the least. I'm establishing
a sense of the texture of things through touch.
Montaigne's Venetian turpentine served on a wafer
with some sweet syrup on a silver spoon.
What are you not willing to feel in the desert?