you'd never
hold onto something for too long
or let it go too early
you're always
right on time

passing through both ways, she was
holding to a limb, heaving suddenly up
exhaling out again

stiff as the flotsam clung her
yet liquid, like everything, in the grand scheme of things

the grand scheme of things that is perfectly still
perfectly dead and reborn, somehow
the unseeable color just above
whatever precipice

you'd never be right on time for me
you'd have to **** me and leave me scraped and scrapless
you're always too late
you flip nestlings to their deaths
a perfectly empty mechanical meaning