Spoken to Silence
I have memories of June, but they seem more like dreams. All in the past, fading, smeared together like watercolors. This one has almost slipped by without me waking, and I feel that I do so now only for a moment. This is the gray dreaming, where the world occurs beyond the horizon. Here is just empty places and dust. And this June, only hours away from moving on.
I saw a white rose, on the last day of this Summer month. It bloomed in the unseasonal coolness, backgrounded in green. I took a photograph of it. The flower was like a word, spoken to silence.
The first month of Summer has almost passed, and I don’t know how I got here at all.