Rushing in slow motion

A tsunami covers the town 

and nobody notices.

They shuffle from car to work 

and sometimes church. 

I think a thousand thinks by noon

and utter only seven. 

Why are there gulls in the clock tower?

–

Humming a song an octave below,

some amalgam of hums about 

dust, shells, home, rivers, and pockets.

Light bounces off my hair 

and I feel a moment of childhood again,

the sick part and the sweet. 

–

I’m so much better off when I carry a book.

Sidewalk versus nettles versus steps

and it’s all one path. 

You can mourn quietly and laugh loudly 

and it’s the same heartache

for chasing an ever-moving light. 

–

Time chimes through a town 

and old people cackle. 

We catalog things we find 

and it’s mostly numbers and colors. 

We slide from morning to night 

sometimes lingering over lunch

barely taking in the layers of art in a day.