Key West / by D.M. Jerman

A mouse trap snaps off in the kitchen with no struggle to follow and my fitful waking sleep from holding onto bed pillows and charging them with feelings and responsibilities, meanings- well, that gives up all too easily. But it is an exquisite hour as the cocks crow brightly, madly, independently- and I bike out for sunrise, stopping at the AIDS memorial beside the long pier (White Pier, I think.) Watching Venus hang- like a hole punch with heaven's light blasting thru- over the place where a subtle jaundice gives way to a burnt pink. Clouds now- nebulous and melancholy as bulls, prepare to be themselves seared away to reveal the hottest and best light over this- an end corner on an American world. Sol bides her time, and the wind picks up to chill me, only clad in t-shirt and swimsuit. Inky water beneath me pushed out by the staggered, pock-marked rocks. A white lip of sky rising, rising, has almost cast Venus away. It is good that the last thing we see- a beacon to mark the end of the darkness- is our sister. Our celestial twin and guide. Increments of light dull further into shape and the last pastel of storm cloud blue lifts gently off the west side of the island. A fishing boat comes in fast. Water choppy enough to let your mind play that it sees fins of large fish coming out of it. Today is the sailboat race around the island. My first Sunday here- and the mark of the beginning of the second week. Maybe I'll swim myself into a nap today, or go get a raw coconut. Finally- a reward thru the clouds- thick flush to full sky blush around the great wide red moment. The planet put to bed in blue. Blood orange defying gravity and shaming inexpressibly what goes without color. I leave myself to be reminded, over and over and over again, that we are always being transformed, and always on the edge of further transformation.