time-limit me.
build a house of shelves,
shutters down, and
walls. make rooms yours to wrap, hold,
divide. but allow windows.
allow benediction, and a sadness
my parents never had
time for.

time-permit me
to be born, not re-
moved. my brother hasn’t formed
yet.
        
time-emit me.
emit depths,
so I can swallow
my own residue
until I can be
full.
yield me a clearing-through,
compose small
town inertia, and wake the moths.
scar something,
something burning
until I can pin it on
myself when I choose.

time-admit me.
make me small enough
to enter.
I exist. continue. bring light
to my lack, emit me.
admit me. accept me until I
remain.