In the waning light, it is difficult to decipher
What is real
What is imaginary
And it all comes down to a thought
Which in turn provokes context
I type into my phone
Watching as words right themselves into cohesive sentences
As if by magic
Wishing that life could do the same
Spellcheck for the actions we place with good intention
Instead things become skewed, lost inventions of another imaginary rock
striking the pool of present moment
same time
different intervention
What is relative?
What is theory?
Creating ripples that spread to the furtherest reaches
We are such random sparks
Tumbling stones
Full moon
Bare feet sinking in fresh grass
This much I know to be true
This feeling at least
Reliable
We awaken so briefly, before sinking once more
Into the daily task of living
Sometimes the night seems more true than the sunlit hours that preceded it
The day is for getting by on the elbows of the mind
But nights spent awake
Solitary dreaming beneath the endless stars
Where sharp toothed ideas collide with the things we suppress
Unzipped
Undressed
But is it just a thought?
Perhaps a change of mind
I bury my toes deeper
And listen to the whispers
Trying not to pay them
too much attention
Lest they become shy, and run away
back behind the tip of my tongue, the periphery of mind
where I cannot grasp them firmly
when required
