I sink, and
welcome
the cold water,
rising up to my neck
and over.
Writer in San Francisco, CA
I sink, and
welcome
the cold water,
rising up to my neck
and over.
Sun turnstiles
and I am revolving
around you. In orbit,
you do not glow, glitter,
or emanate a light source,
life source. You are a moon,
created out of cataclysm, but
reflecting light nonetheless
you are the center.
Sun watching. The dreams of the world.
I am here and holding the sun together,
the edge of the night. The edge of the world.
Memories fragile, ripped away
a stretch, reaching for-was it something
I said? Was it what I did? I can’t remember.
Distant echoes, remind
the horizon of atomic blasts
decades ago. The air, everything,
changed forever. Date, dated, dating
past, present, future, meticulously
counted.