Soliloquies

Tonight I think about the citadels of my childhood, those last days of freedom that marked the end of summer. My mother would hand us our books and take us away from the sea. It happened as rapidly as retreating water against the sand. We would suddenly sway closer to autumn and leave behind the soliloquies of a life filled only with air and song.

In the desert, change is a subtler thing. You must have a secret rapport with the earth to understand the difference. The shifting of seasons has its own truth.

Here everything burns and we become yet another thing.

These memories are as incoherent as my dreams. My heart drifts to unlikely places where thoughts are unfinished walls or eyelids painted with sleep.