On the floor

It’s a kitchen or a forest
in a coal town or the wilderness.
I am somewhere, at any rate,
but my mind is somewhere else.

There is dust or soil or ecosystems
where I sit and breathe and daydream.
I am far away while I sit still
humming an ancient song I just made up.

I hear conversations but am detached
from real time as my sense of time
is sideways so I can’t keep up
with navigating linear rivers of talk.

It is not day or night but there’s light
in a room in the woods on the floor
as I watch shadows tell stories
of other mes in parallel places.