Distance

Cottonwood leaves. Cottonwood bark. Steel benches dipped in plastic to seal away rust. Enjoy Heineken responsibly dot com. The thrum of a tugboat. I like that word: thrum. Someone is smoking upwind of me. The tug pushes steel steel steel coal and steel. A tiny spider looking for God knows what on the back of my ring finger. I look into the inside of the blue shell afternoon sky and still I see stars. Afternoon. After hours. In the universe of my creation there will be more stars than space. More hours. More leaf than tree. Or simply less space. In the universe of my creation I can sit here and touch the hazy limestone bluffs across and down the river. I can read the crags and escarpments like braille. I can walk to work in seven steps. On the back of my neck I can feel the air displaced by the migrating ducks overhead. I can heel-to-toe onto the steelbarge with a tiny baby step. In the universe of my creation I can drive three hundred miles in ten minutes.

© Copyright 2008 JD Robinson