my palms are scarred. the left more so than the other. why? this? why. am sure its from the crawling scrambling stumbling through in darkness dorr to dorr. nook to cranny. level to level until...until a revelation hammerd. hard. without discretion.
This photograph is the property of Tatiana Parcero.

and you have climbed? no. no climbing here. just some stumbling as have i. do i. still. a random coursing, paths crossed. for a time. only that. no conscious rhyme, instead driven, we, by fate and puffs of phantom breath.

for me each night they come to exhale at my window. nudging always to some where...a destined prompt without regard to where they drive midst swarms of silent conjurations.

slowly. ah, so slowly...one begins to fall away.