And that too. The Seagull. From Memory

23/12/17

 So I sit here

trying to return to that place, the place where the thick smoke fills my lungs and surrounds me.

And then I’m there, but not entirely, part of me is in this room writing and floating in a flood of memories.

The twitching blue lights is before me and I stare at the city, the port and the sea, so far but close in a way.

We are there, so gone yet together in another plane

– in memory, I am a we just for this moment –

I stare at the window and there it comes, always waiting for me in memory, tracing the same loop of flight. The Seagull wants me to hoop on its mind and join it in its journey.

It takes me on flight.

I descend over the city, the twilight on my back.

There over the coast, over the port and the homes, taking in that slow rhythm

Wind on my wings, caressing my feathers, a slow motion picture of the moment.

I am engrossed in the Seagull’s flight, a step away from reality.

This is the song of this journey, of this experience I treasure and recall now, away from time and plagued by other circumstances.

I try to recall this moment from the safety of home, yearning for a place so foreign that fucks up my sense of reality

untamed locations by the hand of custom and rutine

I try to be

to be the moment in which

We fly

High in the sky

at eye level

in blue light

and the sunset in sight

We fly at the saxo’s and piano’s tune

And the loop of memory starts again

yet, incomplete,

I become the moment.