I awoke and you were on me.
Blackness: the sky through the window
is the hole of an open grave.
The branches outside, roots sticking through.
Your arm held me from falling all the way
up and on
Going on, I leave nothing behind,
no place no person no road or tree.
Continuing on is the unspooling
rug of time. If we ever found
the edge we really would fly.
But we won’t. The past isn’t gone,
Nothing is gone. By which I mean
I really can’t find it. It’s the only thing missing.
Covered pool in the apartment complex
At the end of the dead end road:
A single frog emits his signal, a tone
brighter than traffic lights. It goes up,
it punctures space, length of a star’s
light, into the vacuum, it goes on.