the thing about time

what change comes padding forward

steps long as years, muscles taut &

in its shadow we don’t think to look up

music too loud     too good

& that little bit of crazy

slips out

yes    on the train 

where i sang a note

or three    out loud

& didn’t care

you know that song the one that begins playing and for no reason the room around you just expands just speeds away until everything in it has gone thin transparent and slid out beyond the limits of your vision and you are someplace else someplace remembered someplace almost solid but ever so fragile with colours and scents that you can almost grasp but soap-bubble delicate so you know that if you move too much or glance too close or breathe in too deeply the illusion collapses and you will snap back from being in that childhood field that distant island that cottage full of friends that filthy dorm where you first felt love or that kitchen filled with the smell of something you haven’t tasted in years and then you’re sitting again in the same tight space the same dull office the same old chair just clicking the replay button like some addict needing one more fix because this song is still the one and it’s still the same and it’s right here playing but it’s no good because that moment has left and is gone

i line up my fears thick and thin     a barcode 

scanned, it will reveal what they have cost me

on the crosswalk, a student

plaid skirt     white cane

taps toward the opposite curb

goes astray     corrects herself

& from a distance, i shift my weight

as though to compensate     aware now

of my own steps  &  wondering how

i arrived here noticing nothing 

the house lights dim

the stage blinding

white    & in the hush

the audience waits

breathing    & i  can’t

remember my first line

fuck    i touch this page & it falls apart

so much decay    so little consideration

i think even my body might crumble

from lack of being what i thought

i was     just too certain that i would

succeed     of course i still could    but

for this dark weight    this mountain

i crawl under & declare myself stuck

my hard drive hums without contentment

the monotone of an object set in motion

& fighting friction to to keep on moving

wound winded

wind wounded

the danger in mirrors

is in the reflection

of what you don’t expect

it’s all in the past
it’s all in the future
the rest a stylus
scratching vinyl,
messages set
to self-destruct 

you shout,

& the echo

is the sound

of a self

now past

your throat a fire i cannot cool

not with honey-thick teas or kisses

& helpless i imagine myself powerful,

sucking this poison thing from your lips

& burning it in the furnace of my body

but instead    at three a.m.

we both lie still & awake

the bed shaking with your cough

the work day drops down slow

sky gone all orange honey

in its sticky final moments,

and at four fifty-five

this city could be made of gold

we will always be small

even our wonder can’t fill

the space between stars

but here we are 

                           looking up

how can i do it

shake this language out like a rag

a tablecloth of crumbs

moth-eaten too

i should pick at its stitches

undo the weave

& one line at a time

spin finer silk