Notes Scattered Along the Trail

I spent the better part of the day working on photographs. I sit here now, looking at each moment from somewhere above. I feel exhausted, but cannot sleep, although my lids are slipping.

Fascinated with nothing in particular, my body and mind are almost moving separately, as if not recalling how to be absolute, as if completely disconnected with nothing left to make them true—a gap where a heart remains, longing to blend again.

And and even if I identifed this feeling, feelings swell and subside, absorbing with distance and nebula, the way movement slows to nothing, where everything tastes like poetry, but words cannot be found.

In a few moments I will be making my way to bed, draping myself in a down comforter. I will blend into the white space that takes place of being awake—with the moon on my back, my entire being will become one again, during the sleep between dreams.