commonwealth

i set my alarm for six thirty. and i get up because my clothes are waiting. my shoes have their tongues hanging out. i run in the park where there are no angry coughing buses. just a commuter on a bike, statues, both stoic. it's so dark it could really could be Taiwan or Paris. soon the sun will be stretching out it's old joints and the park will go from fog to technicolor, in mostly green mud.
but i can see a flouresence that's trying to catch the weakest bits of light. it's a yellow vest. a park worker cleaning up the careless remains of saturday. then i'm closer and i can see that he's bowing, murmuring prayers that disinegrate and spread just like dandelions. islam. but i don't know the name of the prayers. i know the names of the royal families. york. Lancaster. Windsor. elizbeth ii is behind the mechanical wave, daughter of george vi. but here i am all dressed in my ragged breath and i just feel ignorant. he's got all the quiet dignity of seasons, repititon and passion all tangled up. maybe i'm all hopped up on endorphins but i feel like maybe i've been reading diversity like a t-shirt tag. london is 55% white, 17% indian, etc. etc. wash in cold. handle with care. i'll shower and feel better. he'll swallow the last bits of prayer with breakfast. but he and i begin the day the same, looking for peace and clarity. dew on socks. dew on hands. a good stretch with the sun.

London, United Kingdom