Eyes closed,
The heavy drone of
What If
Heaves through my
Frozen ears,
Beating,
Beating.

Aphrodite rears
Her luminous head
And cries out
Beneath the slow
And steady
Thumping presence
Of How Come.

There's too much time here.
Space that needs
To be filled.
Reason
Is stretched thin,
Cracking at the center
Like the walls of
An old tool shed,
Canary yellow
And peeling.