Point Grey - 15,000 a month

Mild cold temperature and the wind rolling off the water.
A distant swoon of cars and buses and people wandering aimlessly - the city lights singe and fray an outline into the view; burning memories of streets into the forefront of my mind

I observe from far away but near enough to hear
an eratic pulse or a blend of blood in different bodies looped through hundreds of living things - surviving independantly
causing one - eratic pulse.

There is so much in an exhale. Like the release and renewal of life, like birth and death personified.
Exhale and out of me - that nervousness errupts from a vacant rush and flow of too many of us living in cramped spaces

We sat back and watched from a perch. Like the rich ones must.
Along side the red wine and plumes of smoke - rain falling on our heads and hands and legs in long tights.

Ideas became in an instant and remain suspended in time looking onward.
Alas, not one word was spoken of the future becasue it had arrived.