murmuringsurroundsound

In peace would we wonder at the past: turn it over in chapped fingertips, clutch at it like a rosary in the middle of the night, a hair necklace for the mind. And through the silence emerges a whimper, then an inexplicable sob. Worn and crawling back upward toward solace, try to slow the flow of pinnacles, leaps and bounds and heart palpitations. Try to slow. Try to slow. This is the heady feeling of full satiation. There is so much mist.