December 21, 2020Love in Terminal 3D
A feather’s architecture is a mystery
to a fish whose mosaic of scales would be-
fuddle buffalo. Alluvial allegiance & blue
swamp swagger, you could make your home
in time if place didn’t matter, but it does.
Ask anyone who’s been in a plane struck
by lightning, or a body blindfolded by eight-
minute-old sunlight. “Time and again,” my father
used to say & if what he meant by again wasn’t place,
then what was it? The skin that comes between us
like a scale or a feather, like a father or the weather,
is it place or is it time, this foreign skin of yours,
because I thought that it was place until it disappeared
and then it seemed like time, as centerless as time.
from #69 - Fall 2020