“And I too seem to know you, not by where you live or what you eat, but by what you do for no reason. Or a reason so obvious there is no need to explain.” -Alexis Pauline Gumbs, Undrowned, p. 69, in learning from “spinner” dolphins

                Earlier this evening my partner and I came back home from a long day and instead of going to the couch or the kitchen or the kitchen table where we play board games sometimes, we curled up in bed. Cool feet pressed against cool feet, beneath the covers, warming. After a little while we talked. After a little talk we were quiet again. Then we got up and I ate an apple. Sweet, bright, sunlight and rain grown together. She ate peanut butter and a banana: earth and rain gathered together, I’d guess, but I didn’t taste it. We sat quietly after she read a poem from a book that had leaned off the shelf in the library today, whispering to her, here. 
                I love knowing by what we do for reasons too obvious to explain. A kind of echolocation of the heart. Look: I am lying down. Look: I am licking apple juice from my fingers. Look: I am listening.