i love
the sunset, its insinuation, its glamorous languor;
twilight takes its time, picking and choosing its colors,
the red-golds, the purple-pinks,
painting its own picture,
telling a sleeping story.
it seeps through windows, gently.
sunrise is sudden. it has definition,
it is short-lived.
sunrise parades itself, it describes things, it chronicles things:
it changes so quickly --
the procession of clouds over the glimpse of water,
and i try to document it, to translate,
to figure out what it is trying to say,
even though i know it is nothing.
i crouch half-naked on a balcony, rain dripping on my shirt,
one arm hugging wet wood, the other clutching my phone,
desperate to document,
desperate to describe.
i make up stories about the clouds,
find camels in the cumulus, a procession towards the day.
i love
the in-between, the juxtapositions,
the hours where things don't make sense, and make sense.
i love
sitting cross-legged, maybe, on wet wood, half-naked,
trying to make things make sense.