So it’s just about harvest season, harvest there is: enthusiasm to the brim. You can only have it by giving it away, or so I’m told. It’s on, which is to say the energy passes through, meaning that the work is to stay open. Naturally, eventually, I’ll turn off, close down. Lucky that there are so many switches everywhere. Flip it. Flip it complete.
The word isn’t actually lucky—maybe more like designed or miraculous or, noticeable. There would be days like this (*the melody of Van Morrison’s song plays). It’s because it’s on. Here for a minute, here for a little while longer. How can I tell you?
It’s sort of the feeling when you think there’s another stair there, but there isn’t and so your foot lands with more force, heavier, and your stomach nearly falls out of you and then you catch yourself. Heart racing, more alert. Caught off guard, at the mercy of gravity, legs, my own absent mind. To be caught off guard is to have noticed that (however temporarily) I’ve let my guard down. Thank god. If I’m laughing it’s at what’s true. Recognition and ignition, gesture and surrender. Find me in the distance between those pairs and real rhymes, sounding it out under my breath.