Whatever happens in increments
— the coffee ring
in the corner of this page dimmer than the last —
happens as premonition and anamnesis
like everything
No surprise I think I smell a fugue
coming on those golden numbers
more like church bells
So hard at work not minding
the gap it feels like revelation to fall
in bed and worry about infinity,
adjacency, how much you will miss
loving the person beside you in increments
how much you are missing I mean and
will be once stepped out of
Try to seize the day, you hold hands with yourself:
one hand grasping
And yet there is a sound
Beside yourself with worry, you see
the night seizes you, the radio
repeats the news and repeats it,
a car hisses over the wet street,
the sheets sough; it isn’t comforting
to be alive