The crook of an aching knee,
a Xeroxed galaxy. Returns again and again.
Circumnavigations and worn benches,
curvatures and soft voices,
on the air. Darkened, free-formed rhythms, waning minutes tick
united in discovery.
"Just another piece of history / from far away."
The cyclically mundane,
negated by the frame tale,
Let's cross seas: I am learning how to speak in another tongue.
"Sweet relief calms me down / makes me drown, lost and found / neighbors complain, sheets are stained."
Maurice Sendak has affected me more than I ever realized. I get it now. I get it. I get. I. .