Behold, I tell you a mystery: we will not all sleep, but we shall all be changed
in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet (1 Corinthians 15:51-2)
The boredom. The restlessness. Come down, out of the trees, move your hand across my face, fill my head with details. Then take me with you, interlaced.
She is walking down to the corner of the city. Her eyes follow her green shoes, her head in a blue hood. The air has the sweet taste of coffee and rainy leaves.