Plucked

I take my glasses off and rub my eyes. Surely there was something that defined the day, something that set something else into motion, something that cast a lasting spell. It is beyond bedtime and as my eyelids turn heavy, I remember I was tied up for most of the day with a lot to do. At times it was like wading through glue and I couldn't think of a photo. I shot some gritty glass, a thoughtful layer of dirt and oil congealed on its inner layer, against twilight. I saw little. I saw little when the day ended. except perhaps the two people walking in opposite directions when they were really walking together. At night, before bedtime, the TV world these days, is a good world.