stuff seems to be making more sense lately. warm florida-like breezes, bare toes, kisses and sneezes. losing that pressing feeling of deadlines, starting to feel one day at a time. sun on the back of my neck, hot rough concrete under my elbows, or cold damp dirt, stars, clouds, moon, twilight, sun. where did time fall from, where did it limp off to? how does a place dissolve into touch and sound, trickle off polished and orange roots into a cold stream, or branches that longingly reach for swift clouds like a grandma's gnarly old fingers?