and then our exile

yesterday driving rains, coming down so hard sheets, curtains of white between eyes and the green of the land.

a few minutes after 1am last night coyotes began to croon, howl, variously and together. the night again was somehow soft, the edges undone, blue film. the purple of irises along basement window released to the night, only opaque white bodies remaining. like us. humans.

again facing the world on less than four hours of sleep. of reasons there are many, are none, but exhaustion, escapism: these have become undone strategems, failed tactics. to measure distance, to lurch. the ocean breathes salty, forecasting hold-out, a matter of minutes, a matter of hours, a matter of matter, between, or.

the same thing / from our li-ives

"to take an active role in the defence of one's country, or civilization perhaps"
- amateur terrorist-hunter, interviewee on cbc.