How am I to say such vigor
specious and amorphous and astringent,
effacing a landscape called yesterday
soon after some shut-eye,
then the jive suspends with
a dissonance creeping in coda
as the overture falls through.
If the clock is right or it feels wrong,
mono-tempo takes over anyway.
Now I see it when looking back.

Enchantment hedged a garden full of lush lives
that I didn’t even know I could ignite
until the season shuffles.
Had I hit my stride? Yes
I keep my head up, but No
I'm upside down, from the outside in.
Clouds that we glided by
are dropping through my hands like sand.
It left me hovering around a layover of sentience
less itinerant than fugitive,
brittle memos that
are in no ways oblivious.
You don’t know your words engraved but
I do.