He stands, hand in his mouth, both slightly cocked to the side.
He stands, breathing.
He stands, teeth jutting out, unrestrained.
He stands and flicks his hand over the television.
He stands above me, face to my face, blinking deeply.
He stands still for a picture, eyes empty.
He stands and loves the world with as much joy as humanly possible.
He sits, playing with his marbles.
He sits and watches his DVDs for the thousandth time.
He sits bow-legged on the ground, flipping through cards made for kindergarteners. He will be 20 in eight days.
He sits on a carousel, watching everything blur.
He sits and meditates in his sanctuary.
He sits and eats because he is told to do so.
He sits and loves the world with as much joy as humanly possible.
This work by Scott Stewart is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License.