2018 whispered and flashed The Beginning across the black screen in my brain, like light
onto film. An explosion, the light like glitter embers turned quick to ash / residue blurred
the print, but the film / still captured / my interest.
The Beginning stewed like garlic in oil with brown rice and chicken stock basil, and all I
could do was wait until the rice devoured the garlic before lifting the lid—let time and
patience develop the film—
A body in motion stays in motion and morning cake is finger cake. But I don’t have to
tell everyone so. It will be / because it is, and they will see or they won’t / The Beginning
with glitter embers—one step closer to an opportunity that just might.