We created the minutes to help us collect our thoughts
yet some of the bodies rejected time and water all the same.
Continuity: we did not both balance the narrow
walk together bobbing down unevenely with I instead
doublefooting the rough spots with my eyes shut.
TO PLUMMET: an act that orchestrates itself
[seems sufferable when compared to those three
long moments just before one
is forced into action.]
Names become unimportant;
to underline a statement and circle it.
And doesn’t the act negate the factness?
Our eyes receive certain random edges more willingly
shapes— a body spinning near an overturned
trash can the grass flattened in tiny moons—
not dissimilar from the methods expressed by
springforwards in pop-up books.
These were never really invented.
I couldn’t have kept the fish face, with its
parted lips shivering, from you if I had tried.
What even stays once it’s fumbled off of our tongues?
I burst into the bedroom and hide a few remaining
pommegranite seeds beneath my bedsheets but it’s no use,
nothing impervious to the act of listing.
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