Wednesday, January 18, 2023


Think of all the second 
hands of clocks 

currently extant 
on the Earth

hurling forward, as if 
forced, with that sickening 

all at once,
while you stand without 
shoes on, 

in the middle of a 
small park 

that used to be 
a parking lot, 

and before that, perhaps, 
a hunting ground, 

a meeting place, a 
burial mound—

and try to say
with a straight face 
or dry eyes

that nothing 
of significance 
has ever happened to you;

that the present won't pollute 
our perception 
of the past;

that any 
love lost 

isn't changed 
by its absence, 

doesn't come 
back around—but