Restless, At Rest
Released from travel — through systems inside systems inside systems — arrival eludes reward.
Restlessly at rest in what seems a familiar place, awareness stubbornly resists.
Defying presence, no sound accompanies trees and leaves in the wind.
Pungent yeast of a bakery here, acrid exhaust of a street there — each expected, each not found.
Perhaps the wind has these too.
The sun — alive in its cloudless sky — idly passes without granting me a shadow.
I sweep my hand across the table top before me. It offers no sense of surface.
A familiar skyline offers comfort. Reaching out it rests in my hand — I cannot make it mine.
Pedestrians rush to make the light, brushing past me. I close my eyes — only absence remains.
I rise and enter the flow expecting to be swept along. Wishing to be swept along.
So much is here. So much is not here. I am among those things.