DESIRING

Today, you desire stripes circling - angling to the left, tightening to a blind center.

An outer hem lines the wider stain of your angst; the pivot-pointed eye holds the other's gaze, as if you both fossilized together long ago.

Perhaps a volcano's violence suffocated you in ash before its lava made a cast of you. Perhaps the ash fell as down from a pillow - slit to ease the blow of your end together at the very beginning.

You desire a pretended necessity - a unity you darn from an absence - when land masses and knotted threads, alone, define you. 

SEABEARING

Today, you identify your origin....

...as seaborn.

...as wind-flyer and current-fighter.

...You can't pull your arms in. You can't act your size.

-Because, at birth, you were watered with blue awe.

-Because, from birth, you ocean-dove.

-Because you smell death in the bays.

-Because swimming repays your debt to life.

-Because you know how to play in the waves.

VIRTUING

Today, you carriage.

Riding goggles, gloves, a cigar to stopper your "ah". Suited for avoidance, you venture into time - a constant threat to your sense of virtue.

With a worn trunk strapped to your back, you begin a day's collection of peace - one salve for each completed task; emptiness accelerating as accomplishment slows.

Some pedantic driver sees all except what you choose to contain behind a curtain - willful secrets - remonstrances against a chassis you know to be manufactured but designed to hold everything together.

Measurement begins at the end, after you've sacrificed your limbs for your engine, and rewarded yourself with an imagined forward roll.

WINDOWING

Today, your training delivers you.

Today, you give yourself what you know.

Today, you fill out with arrivals from your locomoting.

Today, you window.

THRIVING

Today, you fly. You hear peace. You lift the ground to eye-level.

Today is the day after birth - birth of a long-developing offspring that found itself in front of you just as you were leaving.

Bearing is what you do - cycloning, precipitating, and then delivering the accidents of your findings.

Today, you see yourself in the landscape; you know you'll always be the storm.