the anatomy of quiet spectacle

un petit mort.

I thought of you today. you reminded me of something sweet and warm, of love perhaps. such began this:

oh silent night
how not unlike death you are, your solid
figure thick like fog,
a mill or press
a containment.

we travel in paper planes
slip through love
are soft in air, so soft,
and then we land.

Pathetic little poem, but there it is nonetheless. Still, a sadness permeates. Still, a fear. But I am meditative and reflective. Am on the path toward.

my love.