It’s a lazy day.
I’ve been making a meaning.
Not actively, not hewing or constructing one.
But in the reverie of moments, sifting,
seeking discoveries in the relative simplicities
of commonplace words and things.
I float in and through liminal space.
A deep sea diver familiarising himself
with watery discoveries.
I circle and return, and peer again.
I watch how sentences sit on the seabed
of the everyday. Then how they shimmer
and shift in the liquid glow of attempts at understanding.
I sense how things are and despair of communicating this.
The lazy days, the days when nothing comes are hard work.
As I drown
the escaping bubbles
belch a new language.