the bodega light is different tonight, softer maybe. or am i just seeing things differently. like the way the trash blows down the street, used to just see trash now i see a dance. a broken ballet of forgotten things, a chance encounter in the wind and it's beautiful for a split second until it slams into the curb. maybe the light isn't getting in through the cracks maybe the cracks are just getting wider and i'm finally able to see out i don't know. maybe that's enough a glimpse is enough now, right? like the chamomile, tastes like the promise of sleep that never comes. but it's still warm and maybe i'm not just waiting for the rain but for something else entirely something to grow.