We've got to start at the bottom of something. The place where our settling sounds like a bell toll is as good a place as any. Where our habits defy us into corners dark. Well intentions that none of us could carry anymore. This winter light brings wishes back to itself giving a respect for our hopeful, deep-lying selves.
Here is the place where the seeping out gets old. I see it for what it is but it seeps and sings and summons something I'm trying to get away from. Persisting with teeth of hell, back to itself. LOOK AT ME! And so I look long reassured that communications with reflections are no way to spend myself and so I forget. And on and on and on and so the command goes, and so the sin. Forgetting becomes a triumph of carrying on as it becomes the Achilles heel. And it's just me being me and me being good and on and on and on.