departure

These last days in Dover are blossoming and dying fantastically, all in each day, after day after day and I am rematerializing as flesh and blood, standing suddenly in the center of the suburban street. With me my fears, some soul-clinging anxiety, and peace like eggwhites and shell, keeping me whole. I'm curious.
And is the season just as it should be? Where is the indian summer now, where is our collective doom shimmering in the mirage over hot asphalt? Driving my parent's SUV with the windows down, gathering necessities and niceties for the voyage ahead, worrying about relationships between myself and others, my hair clean...nothing could be more normal, which is unusual.
I'm blind, but I'm alive. Roll me on, but carefully. Balance me on the equinox, but not before.
Walking down the street I spot a dead S, belly open and peeled back, flat and shiny. Only my skin knows it from a candy wrapper, knows it by its death so I shiver. The air is perfect, warm close to the skin and cool brushing by. Everything is the same. Same as it was. Same as itself. The wrapper in my pocket and the snake on the cement and the half-dead flowers on the branch and the sun in the black abyss.
I'll miss you, Dover, impossible though it may be to miss something if everything is everything. I'll miss you like I miss Bard, less than I miss people, but more than I miss homework.