“I have been trying, for some time now, to find dignity in my loneliness. I have been finding this hard to do.”
-Maggie Nelson, Bluets
I feel like a crow-black-wingéd thing. Today marks one year. I tally the days like evidence. I do not know why, or what spherical time patterns do to the façade. A geometry of the soul. I have settled into this idea of without. I wander in lacy seclusion with a certain softness and wonder. The crows are here again. Four atop a barren fig tree, two on the fence. They have their morning assemblage; I am certain they watch me through the thin pane of glass, pitch-dark plumage. Heated bickering, exodus. The geography they choose to encompass perhaps they can illuminate.