A SINGLENESS
OF TIME
We are growing our bodies outside of ourselves,
relegating the present to a circumstance, and
moving on. And then - I hear a door slap shut
and realize nothing yet remember : once too
when I was somehow a child, open and
unshuttered, insisting on making loud noises.
Now, all things have changed. There are
voices parting ways, dissembling in a haste
of 'harvest fairs' and 'Thanksgiving plans'.
All things I never wish to see. The chrome
sun shines off the Buick's blue face, and
somewhere, near above, the terminal clock
chimes off another railroad hour.
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