WE ACT FOR TIME
we act for time. here is whittled down to a single sound. time looks, permits, and contours itself through words, our gesture towards measurement. the mind, a marriage with mourning carries the mathematical dreams, the space, the body (you, us, we) give fully, opening to hundreds of wild birds, illusion. the internal war of here is home, is light on a cup is body is breath is seeing is leaving is staying up all night hungry for velvet gardens, flying through a library of loss, making inventories of pattern, the impression of my body against the window, giving attention as time evacuates, isolating me elsewhere, pouring into my hands, and out of my mouth, emptying every space into an infinite static, a giant moment that slowly sinks with the sum of all seen. here everything is nameless and naked performing in a uniform of constellations. here the mind is in flight haunting itself in the suspended perception of its own shadow. it’s unimaginable math. the length of longing. the fluttering wingspan of grief. the amount of touch we endure. i was once feeling much more, and then it was over. no sun. all things broke, obliterating the tactile feeling of a dream too absorbed with its own fleeting. i am tempted to call thisness perfect, though that word seems insincere, here.