The day, with all its pain ahead, is yours.
The ceaseless creasing of the mourning sea,
the fluttering gamboge cedar leaves allegro
Derek Walcott
Some people, born inside out, are prone to unravelling.
Among our vestigial traits: coccyx, wisdom tooth, death.
Every day, piecemeal evolution. Soon I will be pure wonder.
You step into the river of your history, wrinkle, step out.
Fruit is the fruit of the tree; rot is the fruit of the fruit.
Annelyse Gelman, Conch
