This evening is between rain & not rain.
With each passing moment, we’ve become
part of the past, as if there’s no future,
just the past readily accumulating. That
we’re infinite paper in a paperless world,
sleeping with open scissors under our pillows,
mouths undone, eyes slightly narrowed,
counting stars & fireflies in a dark sky.
But, we’re terrible at math; that we divide
our hearts by infinity, howling familiarity
written in the margins to yield & be spent.
That numbers take apart in the unfolding.
He shows me the fire where his sleeves
should be, smells of boy, wet puppy
& dirty pennies. He didn’t at all, not really.
Not knowing who it was & what it was
& that, I cede for a definition of subtract,
trade-offs & take-backs & aftermath.
Employ the word magic: given words
for hunger, for love & a mouthful of bees.