evidence of cyclicality

yesterday the dining room doors open and butterflies sunning themselves on the leaves of the plants inside the windows. today, evening comes, soft rain over sundance.

people arrive each day, as the season comes in. an avocado stone rooting in a cup of water on the marble counter.

the black cat with pieces torn out of his ear, and tiny grey hairs that poke through around his eyes. my wounded left hand healing.

most all the lip balm i brought with me now used up. only part of one stick remaining. two hair elastics lost. time to restock on chocolate.

already, summer shoes -- the ones i have now are to last me through september. blue nylon pants, which have lasted since my early days in the rave scene, wearing through now because i wear them every day here. i am going to fix them with bright yellow thread, then kill them in the desert.

songs under my fingertips. in a notebook, the word: believe.

astrid kerr who tells me now she has her burning man ticket. my playa-sister bec who writes: gentle creature, be careful with your heart.