F r I n g e

I look out on the vast fascinating world.

A stranger’s glimpse.

I see the mercurial beauty.

I am its refugee.

Recalling the passionate colors is a melancholy endeavor.

To tingle, to anticipate, to experience.

Undiscernible to compass or GPS.

Out there, unpinned, a piece of me travels.

To own a beautiful house in which you can’t reside.

A banquet table flowing to the edge.

A fleeting moment, hopefully to subside.

Love, X