Days used to be longer
and yet I can’t hold on to what they were,
from the sticky threads connecting them
to the breezes pushing them further away.
I wash my face, hoping for clarity
but my eyes keep falling closed.
The air isn’t empty anymore
and sometimes I forget to breathe.
Using my limbs as cautionary tales
while maneuvering sideways,
the music doesn’t seem right
though I can follow the cues.
How long should I follow?

Maybe it will be like this
after the end of all things,
a mosey along a lush narrow path
with a big view of the strange and beautiful.

Somebody was celebrating mornings
but I forgave them.
I opted for pastry over hopefulness
and mentally traced the map
from where I walked in youth
to where I found my footing now
and without dropping too many crumbs,
laughed with my mouth full.
Somebody was venerating the past
but I forgave them.

The Empty begs audience
even on a lush green morning.
I cannot hold it at bay long.
I cannot remember my dreams when awake.

I hold my heart too closely now
to admit sentiment better tucked away
carefully between line breaks.

The illusion of a watcher
to protect me has been lost
in a place where the sky is so big,
it swallows both fear and hope.

She wanted to tell him
her new disappointments
but their conversations read like lyrics
for a punk band,
elevating her uncomfortably.

Trying to find a poem about railroads
somehow led to the revelation
that he wrote a book once
that’s been forgotten.

She spent ten minutes online shopping
for a plaid watchband
and hasn’t worn a watch in six years.

They turn their feed over and over,
waiting for the post that will settle them.

It’s quite simple;
when you pry greyed sleep
away from the vibrant landscape
at the ends of your fingers,
what becomes the focus
is not Who or Why
or even When
but just sensation,
taken deep inside
like a belonging
without question.