|frames of reference | la.la.liv|
In my dream, my camera--except for a breath's hesitation between on and record--works, more than works, this time it is filming and in my dream I file frames of
Lani + Lisa running at me in flight patterns of the insane, zig-zagging across the jungle-hung field before dark.
Rose quartz striations across Rock Canyon in early summer sunlight.
Ben Covington saying to me look, for some reason, she cares about me. And on a good day, I feel like I might become everything she sees in me.
A ferris wheel.
My first road into Jakarta, the baby goats on the highway, the fruit vendors bending over truckloads of mangoes still undecided green or red or maybe even yellow, the signs about death to drug dealers.
Naomi on the front porch like a muse for Ralph Lauren himself, all-American and exceptionally beautiful without ever trying. She laughs.
Sand-shaped roots on Rabbit Island, collecting shells small and round as a child's ear, Miss Ruby in the parking lot, Tahunanui across the bay.
A day that can't have happened yet.
The way an Incan-gold sunrise plays across the last hour of a night train from Solo and that day I see Lani + Lisa again, my heart racing flight patterns of the insane.
And when I wake up Lily has made pancakes and also there are strawberries and she says It is going to be a good day and I say Yes.
UPDATE: thunderclouds + lightningstorms. great day.