“ATMOSPHERE”, 1998, 30″ x 30″, m/m

Before dawn I throw crumpled clothes on and, out of habit and desire, put some lipstick on.

I smile at my dog’s high-velocity tail and strap on her leash.

I unplug my wheelchair from the charger and sit down.

I wheel over and open the door to ‘out there.’

It rained just a tidbit last night and so the air meets me like a lover; soft, mysterious, full, inviting.

I love the half-dark.

The colors are dimmed, the air quality elevated and chilled and perfumed.

Songs are begun and ended on cues I can’t know from treetops and under tangled brush.

My breath slows.

My brow and jaw let go into original softness.

My dog feels the release in the loosened grip on her leash.

The wheels of my secondhand chair make a sort of tired but bearable sound.

I breathe.

And pray.

And breathe some more.

There seems to be enough.. right here in this moment.

I am full.

Of nothing.


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