Without denominator, I circle the length of a half note. I circle the clasp of a deer running from a headlight. It is blinding to remind myself that it is temporary. Everything is temporary. This is supposed to console me
To tumble off and empty
A waterfall never reaches its river
The sun changes direction and
You can no longer look around and tell time
A bag of sugar is ripped open for all to see
It pours steadily and there is nothing
We can do to stop it
I have a weakness for ghosts
First of all, I believe in them
They move about in the second half of night
They move when you can’t move your muscles
I wish I was more receptive during sleep
Hooked up to some ghost machine
Try to keep near me, I’d say
The plants by the windowsill grow as we speak
Tell me everything
I’d draw closer until I reach transparency to match
The square of sunlight on the small of my back
My brother is shoveling snow during a storm. Sometimes, I think I could just fall over, he says. Out there in the snow, he looks like the middle of a ghost. Later, when he comes in, his face is dripping with so much snow, he could be crying. He used to cry a lot when he was younger. I used to give him a spoon. He could barely open his mouth