How long until the body decodes its recurring hungers? Tubers sweetend in coconut cream, tapioca pearls glistening. A tongue that will not stop swimming in underground rivers. Cooled or fevered, cobbled with scars: the largest territory of skin. But nothing so distant that can't sense time approaching. These days, the dark falls faster than you can arrange it on a shelf. How much room will it take up? Think of it as a sleeve, a pocket, an envelope. Sometimes the things you find surprise you: lint in the shape of an ear; a leaf that crumbles as soon as its outline is traced. The scent of a breath you think you inhaled so many years ago. In the vegetable bin, the pleasing, cold shapes of apples next to spears of celery and wilting greens. Soon you will have to wind the clocks back again. Though it lies in bed in its pink pajamas, time laughs at the lie. You hear it as a small tinkle like bells.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.