We share ephemeral beauty

One thousand points of light is
an experiment in textured, familiar,
impermanent stories of the senses.

Join in and make light!
July, 2004; New York City, New York
The harmony between two voices the warm and humid night that you and your friend were asked to give her roommate and his new girlfriend some space to themselves at a highrise apartment of brutalist design in Gramercy when you and she instead headed to a park beside her favorite Greek diner to sing opera to each other, realize you know some of the same pieces, hold hands, and spark
June, 2013; Portland, Oregon
The impossibly orange sunset over the roof of the skyscraper downtown that your security guard friend let you and your father explore where you tried to tell him what happened and why you went quiet for so long but he couldn't hear you over the warm wind and the mountains in the distance and the traffic down below
August 2009; Dallas, Texas
The warmly welcome Bismillah of the minaret beneath which you and your fiancee and her Turkish friend gathered to learn Arabic since she grew up in a country where women aren't welcome in mosques and here with with hijabs more openly explore what it means to be free
December, 1994; Euless, Texas
The pure white stream of milk coming from the cold, black garbage bag you moved to see a bug that scurried underneath it when it snowed and froze in Euless and you were free to explore that new building down the road with no cars out

Liked by rez
Memorial Day weekend, 2016; Crater Lake, Oregon
The taco chasing a luchador through an open field, glowstick-yellow spiders sunbathing on the rock where the Willamette begins because that's not the kind of ball we play in this field
Winter Solstice, 2013; Portland, Oregon
The small paper boat carrying a prime number, a small candle, and a weary prayer from the bank of the Willamette towards the new morning
Winter, 2002; Augusta, Maina
The sticky mass of coins you found in the console and gently pick apart at a toll booth in Maine because you spilled coffee in the coin holder again some time ago and forgot this is a road you have to pay to drive on
Finals week, December, 2008; Arlington, Texas
The moment you wake up, sixteen seconds before sunrise on the roof of the University of Texas linguisics building with some paper, a pencil, a can of corn, a tattered corduroy jacket, a cane fashioned out of an old bedpost, and five dollars to your name