THE TIME: 7: PM
THE MUSIC: Stupid Boy; By Keith Urban
THE MOMENT: Eighths of an anticipation
your eyes have their silence.
In your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which I cannot touch because they are too near.”
A few nights ago I stuck my head out of a passenger’s seat window and closed my eyes to the night spinning past me. I waited for truth to rise and conquer all of the day’s passive resistance.
Next: I saw an impenetrable stretch of shadowy pine trees, and yet a sunken red moon shone through unknown dusty openings.
then, there was hope in me.