open/a_long_division.md
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## a long division
I stood in front of sliding glass looking
out and over the manufactured
pink of a crayon colored number two
past the weathered wooden deck
into a winter-gray
yard.
I stood before the sliding glass looking
out and over the manufactured pink
of a crayon colored number two, past
the weathered wooden deck and into the
fenced stillness of a winter-gray morning.
Color, sleeping since fall, made it's stand
against the season in the bright
yellow streaks of a common wooden playset
unused and moved only by wind
at the back of the
yard.
Color, sleeping since fall, made it's stand
against the season in the bright yellow
plastic and chains of a wooden playset
unused yet swinging in invisible
wind where the lot stopped and the field began.
The new year had come and it brought with it
new television shows,new books new
recordings of new people with new money,
new and rambling lists of things
to do or never do
again.
The new year had come and brought with it the
things that new years bring–new books new money
new television new recordings of
new people with new and rambling lists of
things to do or never to do again.
Waiting for the coffee and letting the morning
spill into me one note
at a time,
I realized,
THERE(|)
on that spot(•),
looking out and over
that crayon colored {2}
that I had let some part of mymself oversleep.
that crayon colored {2}
was===
more than just a happy reminder
of everything that I had===
more than just a simple cut out
beginning to 2013===
more than a happy new year.
As I stood THERE(|) looking out and over
that crayon colored {2}
I was looking forward to be sure.
But there was some critical part of me===
some memory of the person I used to want to be===
just now emerging
from the fog of
an unfortunately warm
January mist.
(Insert stanza dealing with contentment)
Perhaps I stood THERE(|?) in parallel.
Perhaps THERE(|?) was a former future version of myself
THERE(|?) next to me thinking less technically
about the color of the
yard.
If it was me at all it was
not exactly me but me as
a splinter of time
Yet there in the kitchen before breakfast
with morning spilling through me note by note
I could feel some forked version of myself
whose thought though distant still twisted in mine
like white milk swirling in dark black coffee.
As I was looking forward to the new
year here was some version of me perhaps
some shadow of the person I used to
want to be lingering in a soft-boiled
fog of memory and thought and dream like
a fault in time both present and remote.
The two of us stood THERE(||)
SCRAPS----->
The two of us stood there
looking out through sliding glass
only just now becoming aware
of each other.