Again, morning, a blink & then night returns—Time’s abbreviation
as anxiety erases the days from memory. I wait for
my fears to claim me. I fill the day checking & planning. The
way I plan for disasters is filled with an animal’s
urgency. I gather for winters that may never come. A head
cannot live without the body. But a head can isolate itself from its
body. No, not simple mathematics, but how do I explain the mechanics of my body
any other way? On good days I hum like a machine with production—they
say you can hear my brain whirling without a hitch. I say
it won’t ever last before a spring snaps then a flood of despair
like oil overtakes me as if I’m the ocean. Is
there a way to separate oil & ocean in a day? Belief’s
a buoy I leave nail marks on until I reach shore. It’s true
when you search for danger, you can find it like your echo
after calling out. Reflective sound can be an instrument. I’ve
listened for the restart of a loop. I’ve seen
seasons disappear, waiting for spring to restart. How
like these repetitions—these starts & stops— I am. The
comfort of watching clouds transform across the sky
knowing the next day will bring more or none. It becomes
a way to stop spinning. I let the sky revolve for me. The
trouble is staying present in the day’s echo
to find some new curiosity. I think of
how my faces ages so slowly I don’t notice what’s
changed until I see photos. A kite flown
high, I try to coax wind into holding me. I didn’t think through
how to follow my life in reverse. To remember where I left it.