this is from august 9th

[foxtongue]

and so she wakes again with the feeling of crows wings,
feet in the corners of her eyes,
like her gaze was walking in her dreaming,
seeing and being in places she'd never been,
never thought to be.
Sky reflections of water falling,
rain green instead of silver,
the sound of a shower in the next room.
Tile floor, a dressing room table with claw feet.
Old, all old, and comfortable,
the wood silver washed,
as if surviving generations of children had
worn like water
and made the furniture friendly.

It will all pass, they say,
we have more time than you,
so come and be merry,
and we won't have to notice you again.

and so she wakes up with the feeling of being there again,
that place that is no place,
that name without a name.
Cliches, all of them,
and all of them true.
Waking to the sound of a shower in the next room.