Not even that if it’s a wildfire close enough.
Not even now in breath.
Over the years the answers came, well
answer, or not quite right,
spot in a different language, then there is absolutely none.
Soft filling for next time
that wouldn’t fit on the grid, that I could point to.
And the middle of what I thought was the middle of
life, a new character entered the page.
Who traveled from a long time later.
Leakage after life.
And all that year, I could not read, knowing the language
it can be directional, approaching. Move away.
But the behavior was constant, then the main figure.
His mouth is full, it will come down.
Between the diaphragm and the hard palate:
sound vibration and smearing.
A bad look back at my 37th year.
And how did we get here – me and you, I mean.
My baby that I take care of and cut the modifiers on the screen.
You were no and then one
of ten thousand things that happen in the snow of the mind.
Stayyou invite me stay.
And since then no question has been asked
and there I was, now dragged by
endless itching
of the hands of the clock, round and round
now, now, now.
Was there a chase?
It’s late.
I tremble, touching you
here on the page.
This poem appears in June 2026 type version.
