She called exactly four hours after the earth stopped moving.
While we waited for contact, wave after wave, we sat.
Through repetition and capture, we learned to stay constantly aware.
It was a lesson worn familiar as the day when I gave my soul away.
An unbecoming strategy for some; survival for others.
Protecting misgivings and intentional reactions,
we spent our remaining days building machines
that ran on unrequited syllabic utterances.
Flip back, back track, forward leaning free verses
flowed as patterns, as privileged misdemeanors.
Our hearts grew to beat metaphorically.
After pausing to ask how the earth breathes
under the weight of concrete,
she said act like you’ve been here before.
It was a coded reminder of legacy.
A collective fantasy replicated endlessly
in anticipation for moments we never took the time to define.
For some, wanting more is our purpose.
The mountains found solitude,
spooning each other to hold their gaze
while hills white from not-yet-risen clouds
lay in contrast to the Bay warming blue.
Grateful for forgiveness and forgetting
time as construct, a gravitational force
wrapped around desire, momentum, abundance.
Absence has pulled your energy elsewhere,
away from me.
Every day we show our stories by waking
under cloudless skies as nests of nests
of birds clamor and inspire the cat,
a product of us: neglect and minimal care
unencumbered with material fancies.
All this, and things undiscovered,
guide our personal rhythms (fulcrums/hips)
like how our body’s most graceful state is to be at ease
not unlike that summer we moved across country
with every possession we assumed we would need.