countable moments

there

sitting on the couch

in the small room

by the plant filled patio

simultaneously still

and explosive

early morning summer sunshine

rapacious and caressing

rampages throughout the room

the consoling warmth and shocking brightness

(quality and quantity of light)

almost effectively disguise

their sincerely mendacious message

in ecstasy

now a habit

after early morning breakfast

i sit on the couch

in the small room

by the plant filled patio

my deep black humoured coffee

and current book

(respectively sipped and read)

i love this time

this interval in my day

and i wonder

sometimes

if this interval could stretch

so that its subtle boundaries

disappear over the mind’s horizon

untouchable sunrise and unreachable sunset

some days

(i don’t know how many)

in the early morning summer sunshine

i am looking at the plants

scattered about the patio

but i am not observing the plants

i am seeing them

as if they are not there

and then

the still and explosive light

fills the room with my missing

the missing of my life

dead and otherwise

and

i am seeing them

as if they are not there

i can start to list them

various lists

but i can’t count them

not even start to count

there

sitting there

i know that

i am partly dreaming

sometimes

mostly than not

an ebb tide of the mostly real

a blinding blood-red sunset of the partly aware

i ask myself

if

this is like dying

numbering moments

there

sitting on the couch

in the early morning summer sunshine

simultaneously still and explosive

amongst my missing

despite my still there

and my still to be

and even if i don’t know it

or often don’t know it

but never never know it

is

this

waiting to die

© sam fendrich July 2022