mist

the foghorn was blowing this morning. in through the diffuse white behind my window. and i was trying to keep my dreams.

in one, i remember, i had a child, somewhat deformed. in another, someone else's child, she had a minor heart defect, but was growing, too, at a tremendous rate, and we were great friends. bits of life in fragments mirror-mosaiced in my dreamy mind.

i've been thinking about my friend, with his lovely child-like way of interacting with the world. simply, simply being spontaneous with people. not thinking about impacts and all the chess that everyday life can be.
also difficult. not at all in tune with the rules. bruising egos everywhere, even as he flatters us with his attention. there is no wrong way, of course. i love him for his himness. even if he brings forth my doubts.
and in me there's the desire to be the same, though i wonder if it could ever fit. is it my own wish - to be so free? or my wish to bend to his wish, because of who he is to me, what i would be for him. hard to say.

back to dreams. the future in an instant in this heavy vault, by night. its warf and weft my history.