tiferet shebyesod-yesod shebyesod
38. I wake up early, and I would sleep more, but it’s already late, and there are vanishingly few miles to go. I hear the pulsing of the Coke factory from bed. I also hear, thank God, the birds.
39. I’ll have to learn the songs, who is connected to what. Seems, at least in this way, that the Front Range became more familiar than home. Though it is in naming the unfamiliar that the need for names comes.
40. Has your name changed? God asks. Aren’t you the one who tells me? I say. God is patient, which feels, for once, exceedingly patronizing. Aren’t I the one waiting? I say. What for? God says. I almost answer, then relent.
41. It’s tiring to catch up to oneself, especially when time zones are involved and when oneself needs to be created along the way. I try to speak through the Doppler compression. The vacuum-sealed bags break open, and the clothes, released, breathe.
