songs for keeping the watch: night 11

the long sweep of time. but i in perpetual lag spring ever to catch you
among the hours, rota. & you would stop but cannot. so i would fling.

the sense is of hurtle through space, this long thin wire. your reel once
caught turns again. i glee. but honey-slow, heavy as sleep, the quarter-

days tick& drag. a whistle of shifts. an endless revolving. the day an
hart glimpsed infrequent through brambles. i brush a stone. to grasp

the same minutes in arms: for what weather holds so long that it bears
news of you in true lines? no spent molecule does not lose its way. no

turning that does not swing it into orbit. what i will give that for a span
turning will not mean hours i find at secondhand from you but formation

of a line, the sweep of sight; to catch the breath which holds you, & lets go.