Antarctica XIV

I'm not sure if I believe in discontinuity.



I
believe in... not in reencarnation, just,
in things that start from other things that stop.


I don't know,
maybe the world's circular so
some things are inevitably chasing eachother,
like... the clear air that comes after the rain.
Like...
... empty cups of coffee.
Like...
... cold 2 am chill and warm yellow streetlights,
like...
well, like meteor showers and summer solstices.

Maybe it's some kind of gravitation, when everything spins without sense,
until it eventually falls into the perfect place.
I can't explain it.

But there is something like an epicenter,
drawing all the world into a cauldron of renascence,
like the first blurs of color you paint,
like a new beginning,
maybe even like the first spring dawn over an icefield.

Like sense and honesty, when all I do is try to find words that are coherent,
and they're not, but it's always me always trying to say
that I want to see you again.