Forget the clock face its incessant
periodicity, its modular elision of root
erasure of origin until the day forgets itself across the folded noon,
I’d like to forget all things, too,
the starlight’s red crawl across a faithless cosmos
If we stand here, motionless, without even our breath
displacing the spacelessness between us
Can we make this moment bubble like lyric?
Will the world gaze upon us and reconsider its hurried pirouette? Can we
fill the pockets between the stars with our breathless swell of being?