Across the street, Trail Manor flows in purple italics on a camper besidea seasonally perky house. This is heaven. Pajamas at the bus stop, yoga on a strict schedule, a covert but growing gratitude for sloth. Who’s walking with me?Children I love. Yet I long to be a bare blue between clouds, not looking down,not …
Pubs, old friends pop up like detonated safes, and rivers are really moving but look still, like old girlfriends. Rides, places to live rent free,these arrive and change with my moods. I wear a tie on the bus and divine the secrets of my associates: This one knows we are not equals, this one cannot …