doing it again, on the porch, out in the world. chill but bearable, like all things. we get used to it. slower now, too much thought, just do it. the doing and the saying, nothing ever makes it to the page. the words get lost. no translation, just loss, total and complete. but there is a moment of clarity, a string that finds itself, threads through. hang on to that string, a life, a rope, keep it from being a noose.