The wave of a hairdo?
An adult tooth?
The American flag as a fixture upon the moon?
The markers, with which Jeb has a fistful, sketching with the Muse at the kitchen table while I quickly slide an underlay beneath his renderings?
Some kind of press cycle on the washing machine I never use?
As in, the Bohemian. Whose foreign-born body has been granted the card – more sci-fi holographic, than green – that says he gets to stay. With conditions, that is.
A resident with conditions.
Like us all.
Impermanence is a principle of harmony. When we don’t struggle against it, we are in harmony with reality. – Pema Chodron