oh, dreaming of the the Osaka sun

***

looking through this last month, i am lifted through dozens of sunsets and horizons, ad infinitum of water.  see, folders of photographs of old cliches taken by my unsteady hands - but see also my solemnity and solace and the commonplace.  cliche means nothing to me here - perhaps only as the hush of my wonder and dread.  suddenly it becomes a comforting onomatopoeia: click/a place/a hush - cliche!, cliche!, cliche!...  continuing on, though, i am finding myself increasingly confused by these images i've stolen from the vast and awesome film reel chronicling my month of freedom.  something is not right, i can't help but think that something is not right.  so: i flip them, because certainly they are simply upside-down.  so: i lose reality.  i can't discern whether these are feathered fish flying; i can't orient whether these are barracuda birds backstroking.  everything blossoms into Seussian alliteration, my mind making me a Cat in the Beanie trying to tell the difference between thing 1 and thing 2: sky, or sea?  see, hackneyed snaps i can hardly comprehend.  heavens!, even trees have roots (i read that in a book once) - but are these bare branches or mispositioned tree feet?  are these clouds in an ocean of blue, or a rumble of surf in an empyrean egg?  i have lost reality, i have lost my placement, but still i have this option for a sublime hushhh. i choose my cliches carefully; i am lying on the horizon, w(e)ary of offending either.  i am accepting, quietly, the assumption that i know nothing.  sandwiched between sea and sky, i'll start with the sand and work out which, is which, is which.

i hate that Lovers in Japan is stuck in my head, but:

Lovers, keep on the road you're on
Runners, until the race is run
Soldiers, you've got to soldier on
Sometimes even right is wrong

(but i have no doubt- one day, we're gonna get out)

***