Paper writing turns so kind
A familiar mad chatter
racing
to the left side
of the page
I think you see outside
the tenement walls of verse,
I think you fly
Soar margins soar
Fresh water skiffs, seventy,
eighty years later
on a wall by the bay
Thick varnish dusted clean,
glassy over rich wood grain,
the swirling lines a graph of time,
an artifact now on a wall
We have all the time in the world
Time and again
meaning
represented as
our fear of time is romanticized
for a moment frozen,
hung on a wall
like that left-hand margin
I think you wander out away from the wall
way out, don’t speak so cerebral
Go for a ride
with the waves in the bay licking the edge of town clean
