Fool's Errand

An email I'd sent your way earlier, a few weeks past now: 'One fool to another...'

You've a recollection of my quandary last summer, of course; ever the fool, with a running start I leapt. Seems now a friend's gone and done herself the same o'er in Korea; if I'd found a way towards near-enough a hardened heart in those years, so too had this friend similarly coped. And as for me then, so too for her now - when it crashes, it crashes. So, remembering: walls.

The stones we lay, with each cautious distancing step. There's no natural tide to these sort of things - or if there is I've yet to find it - and so we're left with phrases, lyrics clipped. 'Everything to do with magnets and the pull of the moon,' I remember as a favorite last time around. I'm weary, wouldn't you know, so weary.

We've each these lives intersecting and overlapping, and good god if I can't for the life of me any longer keep track of which footprint belongs where. I lost my pants earlier tonight, and in a summer where everything I own fits in or on the Burley this strikes me as quite a feat.

Thinking things, then. About solitude, loneliness, community? Still (forever and always?) I'm mulling it over, and easily enough to form the bulk of these too many miles. I wonder at a juncture, at a pause - aren't the questions themselves sometimes the answer? Or: I've only more riddles, myself.