I.

When we tell ourselves:
Be patient,
good things happen
in time…
do we know
what that implies?

Do we realize
we are weighing hearts
on the parabolic curve
of a watch’s slow unwind?

For me,
it is a comfort
inversely proportionate
to the size of the parameters we set.
Science would suggest
a sentiment stretched over infinity
cannot possibly have weight:
a massless belief,
a quantum state.

Week in and week out
we find an empty promise of change
in the unending planes of doubt.

Oddly,
physics would suggest
such a transparent theory
is filled instead with a boundless energy.

We invest every ounce of our E
into this hollow idea,
this paper prophecy.

Like father Franklin,
we drag our hearts with thin strings
through loud noises and bright lights.
Like father Frankenstein,
we sew our minds
to a patchwork body of strife.
We trust that,
in good time,  
all things come to life.

II.

Impatience is scientific,
it’s true.
Our wildest imaginations grew
in the span
of a century or two.
Part of a grand tradition,
sometimes
I catch myself
counting down
unnumbered minutes until
at last
I meet you.

Love,
I’m a stitch in the
fabric of things;
you’re the needle that’s
pulling me through.