Vapors

With an orange sheen— the moon sweat thin vapors onto the night’s lavender canvas.

No distant boats lay idle on the horizon.

I took a slow walk through town— the low tide lapped against the canal as errant splashes saw fish rise into the night for a breath.

I had sat with a doctor at dinner— discussing stories and the theme of promises.

He asked what I wanted for my future.

I didn’t know what that meant anymore— it felt like trying to grasp a stream with my hands.

A gentle unmaking of the soul— the unfolding of a flower

in sight of a new sun.