Sleep scrim / desultory denizen

Recognize that the all-time best ever is always memory’s quarry. As though a moment ground into powder and pondered over a cup of late night coffee can define the outer edges of its own aspiration. Hobgoblins and jerry-rigged dream ephemera circle round enumerated to-do lists and the just-missed bon-mot juste that could’ve been uttered and pushed the skiff of that unsavory conversation back to shore. The sound it makes when run aground against sand, the scrape of arrival: that is what waking up to this knowledge feels like.