Fasting, Day #1

disaster strikes at the beginning of every saga— teenage gaze, love before surrender, before sunrise; Derrida, treasure hunting for extras in the ordinary;

upavasa whirlwinds, disturbances to the mundane, delaying tête-à-têtes in ugly corners of beautiful places (Paris, perhaps?) yellow tops, Anthony Green, frozen berries;

dhyana as in-between as I edge toward prajña, between inspiration and expiration; I dither on desire, odes and rhapsodies— a blue stranger with white gloves teasing mighty surrender, a flimsy unity of heart and mind,

en route to god