La Sonnambula

Two in the morning on a Tuesday. The ceiling is high and the fragrance is dark and the season is warming. There's a car passing by as a window of shutters scatters light in crisscrossed confusion. I watch words dance along the bookcase across the room, insinuating unspoken philosophies.

Three in the morning on a Tuesday. A mug of wine wafts memories into a spinning fan above my head. Eyes sag like weighted bags of sand. A ring glints a beam of assurance from my left hand. Words spiral.

Five in the morning on a Tuesday. There's a counterpoint to the story. A denouement of ill will, perhaps. A rummage through Pandora's box for something lighter. Hope is promised. Promise is inactive. Tomorrow is better.

Five fifty three in the morning on a Tuesday. Wonder. Questions. Fear. Entitlement. Altruism. Exhaustion. Aging. Love. Divorce. Not my story. What's my story?


Alarm Clock.