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