Sun at the end of the block. And my life, mo-
mentarily lasting.
A brief struggle, a snapped wing. The pressure of
the future on my skin.
Listening with memories, not ears.
I turn around. The ladder’s broken rung, the stain
on the wall. If only I could reach back in time
with a twisted coat hanger. Porous like Styro-
foam, the past has me hooked.
The key in the lock. The lock in my mind.
I chisel away at the world to shape what I can
understand. Glass house, glass eye. Last night’s
train heavy on today’s rails.
The ice, clear. The hole in the ice. In the distance,
a train’s complaint.
The train whistles by the small station. Now I’m
on the platform. Now, I’m elsewhere.
A mistaken star, its incorrect golden light.
What about our small, private lights? Unsus-
pecting branches with true colors hiding behind
green, each leaf an exit.
A frozen deer by the pond.
The next moment may change everything.