The Summer Triangle (astronomy lessons)

Daisy looks out toward a liquid sky and glistens green. It's been 8 years since she watched the sea breeze flirt with symbolism. Strains of something silver touch her skin in tricky tones of light and dark, and she hesitates. She's been here before, and last time, Gatsby ended up submerged and silent.

Spend 3 days grinning with sand in your teeth. It's different from your high-heeled life of cocktail induced meandering. Central park is watching you fall in love with the way waves rise and fall, and you know there's room in your heart for both, but Bethesda borders on absolutist and the only thing you can do is sit and watch the fountains spin. We'll figure things out, this city and I, because there are pockets of nature within the man made condition of it all. It will align...at some point.

I close my eyes and watch a woman scale my palms to tell me to stop waiting. She tells me I'm too kind for how I'm treated, and that's the way it's going to be. I don't mind. I'll do what's right and feel comforted by the irony of it all. She tells me it's time to start seeing past the tip of my nose. I wish that were safer.

If we set sail together, maybe the birds would turn to dancing stars and change the constellations in the sky.

For now, we'll trace the dots that glimmer through the night and chant in three parts.