sanama

I smoke a cigarette by the park ruins. The wholesome mild decay.

The weeping willows are bowing towards the pond surface. Some branches have found a diving position. Life out of sight: croaking, laughter. The surroundings are so overwhelming that I need to grab onto a leaf in order to not slip away.

I receive an invitation to enter a nest inside of a willow. My feet act mysteriously today, perhaps because of the fuzzy smoke or the fact that I’m unsure of my laughing position. 

Above the grassy backyard single swifts. From yesterday’s performance I remember ”Who wants to live forever” 

and a story about an abuela who ate the time and lived until 99.

I can’t help romanticising a summer disappearing behind a curtain of smoke. How would I lean on that.