I’ve been running a mile
non-stop for a while. The exhaustion
is like scattering, escaping
with no trajectory. Circles and
spirals, dips and laborious climbs.
Patterns with no discernible
uniformity, just even shapelessness.
To take form, to move with
thoughts that swirl around you, like
birds of different feathers
in a never-ending rice field. The rumbling
noise of your machinery is the only
thing leading the flock. They ought to stop.
When the thoughts move
again, they fall into a file. When you
settle like a kettle, on
a stove, they flutter into discourse with
the treatise they can’t assuage. Why
not? Recover. The ducks will tell you, that
it’s just all luck.
Photo: Rice Field, Biñan Laguna, Philippines (February 2019)