synapses

Always this charged air between us, the discovery of atom and dust mote synapses. We were delegates from different species sent to get along. You plant what you fear, stand taller to fall. Such a long and complicated grief. The rusty buckets, broken panes, long after the winter washed through, then spring summer the confusion or lack of affection for time. The sunset bewildered, at sea, light long after it’s dark, like someone forgot to turn out the lights in one piece of sky. These are our last slow waltzes, the last steps through the leaves. Already they sleep in, curl up, lose faith, but we can’t blame them.