Day 207 of 2026
“The Open Door Doesn't Close Itself”
He's at a critical and impressionable age and I would really like to stay tight.
This is hard at the moment because he seems to just think of me as the guy who won't buy him an e-bike.
song· 121s
generating...
DISPERSAL, JULY
The dog does not know yet.
The boots are stacked but her nose is still down,
reading the same inch of path she has always read.
The arms tighten once.
This is the only warm colour in the known world.
A coat lies on the grass
because someone put it down
and then forgot which trip this was.
The sky is not unkind.
The sky is not anything.
Four degrees does not have a position on love.
The car door stays open
the way a question stays open:
booted, loaded, angled toward the road,
waiting for the last person to stop being the last person.
a needle-felted rotunda — a circular diorama room seen from inside, where the day's dispersal rings the viewer at eye level like a continuous wool diorama built around a single standing point