Limestone Cats in Melting Snow

 
posed as several possibilities


the sunlight filtered through plant leaves, turning them into x-rays

the separation of yourself, like watching your own wake(ing)

the mulberry trees that follow limestone houses in small towns

the life outside of headphones and screens, blinders for horses without direction

the solace you long for when you should be contented in the moment

the memory in sound, the world it constructs in your mind's eye each time it's heard

the meaningless sum you're left with at the end of the day, with only tomorrow to look forward to

the meandering of forgotten thoughts you suddenly pick up again on clear, cool nights

the flat back view of bubbles in bathtubs, and all the possible long term ramifications of trading air for water

the shadow puppets on the walls of your childhood, and where they all went to