the rattle isnt empty, there's still something moving inside. there's still something with a memory and words. you shake me up, i heard it. but thank you, thank you sweet circumstance for all the impossibilities that force us move around ourselves in slow orbit.

it's coming back, the sights, the sounds, the smells. the paths in my brain that were carved so deeply by repetition. there's a certain cosmology that gets me every time. years and years. the alignment in space and the gravity between two bodies as they turn. and like a naked singularity, you're always in the future, and only once i'm torn to bits, you're in the past. and it's so fast.

as the days progress back into it.