DECEMBER 31, 1993

December 31, 1993: In memory of my mother The New Year is just around the corner. Time again pretends to round. Sitting in the middle of a long story with my legs crossed and eyes clear, I stream my thoughts towards the Beholder. Patches of lit-up blue amongst the leaden appear to a lonely gaze as just and real. What formerly blazed came out bleaker and a friendly breeze is enough reason to consider oneself a lucky devil. I can still dial your number, inhale your loving voice, then let my son say “Hi, Grandma!” and collect his share. Our family ritual overloads the interstate lines with affection. Now, almost three years later, it is no more. Are we still compatible, ― towering, enormous thing with countless gears churning a sole rhythm? Look in the crevices, search through the barren vistas of incessant being powerless to count votes of the dropouts, silence beyond the sound. O, invisible lips speak louder than the tussle of the rippling rush, clearer, than the living. From the river’s depth, we can not hear. Listen! On what hinges all that we hold dear? lovingly the reed rustles, louder, than oblivion.