Am I silos, still as daybreak?

from here, leaning out       beyond their yard. They are fence-prone and rubber-necked. Looking in, maybe. I sense a vulturish curiosity and sink back.   Meanwhile, my dad has fallen asleep on the couch.   He is darker than I remember, has more brown spots and silver near the temples. His head has…

i remember the anguish of space— standing half a step too close to you under the copper light of streetlamps,   with every word and gesture, feeling surprised by how my hands would strain against their own skin to touch yours   in those moments, i understood what rothko wanted to paint— “the big emotions”…