Times I see non sequiturs drill down my body
like balls in an artsy game of chutes and ladders – 3D.
Times I try to hold the future like it’s a rope
in a game of tug of war, or I’m rescuing myself from a loop
that could be a game of hangman. Times I try to be
present, and I think of bows and giftwrap, of how
time bows to the perceiver. How long do I get to love?
How long til I can forget the love I’ve lost?
Times are limited and thank god
I’d not want to be cursed with forever, what
a parachute of a life we live. I’m not responsible for
anything more than I can hold in my mind’s eye—
better yet, my hand. When I get this, time stops for long enough
that I hear the crow’s exclamation, smell the plumbs
ripe in the yard. Times become god units, long inhalations
and though nothing that’s been trying, that’s been hard changes, I do.