By Dick Jones
I sleep with the quarterlight
half open, tipped
like a questing lip
into the dark.
Night rain is falling
and the talk
is all of transformation:
black on black in threads
and swatches, gravity diamonds
heading south down window
panes; the air itself
partitioned into beads
and space. Fluctuation, shift –
this parcel of earth self-
ministers, self-heals. And I
bear witness whilst below
my body ticks backwards
like a novelty clock –
new times, new intervals,
deep secret bells and
slipping gears. Yes,
just outside, a skin
and filament away,
the heft of falling rain
in space, against
the leaves and on
the running earth
is like breathing.
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This is my week to do health-related running around, and today that meant having my annual physical (blood pressure fine, no major concerns, tomorrow I have to go have blood work since they failed to tell me to do so beforehand so my doctor can call me if there's anything weird in it). Then I went to pick up my new reading glasses, which are awesome -- they're bifocals, the big lens prescribed for using the computer, the smaller one for reading books/Kindle/phone screen -- now I need to save up so I can get another pair of bifocals that I can wear everywhere and see my phone screen better while I'm out.
We had some rain late in the afternoon, but the temperature was beautiful all day and there are flowers everywhere (of course there is also pollen everywhere, but I am so glad it's spring that I am doing my best to ignore it). In the evening we watched this week's Agents of SHIELD, whose problems with female characters continue though
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