This morning the birds are out, the overcast is out. My thoughts are a little out and I'm using the word Trajectory in a sentence. My understandings are the business of people & my ability to drop everything. The hair in my milk, the thinness of it. And the hard bite of the wrong foods. The dreamings of elaborate wedding scenes, my playing the bride, the elaborate altar death. Wishing in a smile we hadn't gotten rid of the peach marching-band shift dresses as I leafed through the white-bordered photographs.
