Sitting at the same desk
In a new room, the wait
Remains the same. Sirens
Echo in the night’s expanse
Of absence. Wordlessly
The world maneuvers itself
In our direction, alteration
Only in the mind. Constant
Movement of the clock
Tick tock tick tock always
the sound weight of solitude.
This is it; minutes hounded by minutes,
Seconds snapping their lesser infinities
hours barking like massifs, their bellies
Swollen in hunger, alone and mourning
their separation from existence.
And yet. There is always
Light somewhere in the universe—
A cold comfort in darkness. I
Believe in things that are invisible
To myself. I sing a song of incomplete
Happiness. An invention of longing,
As real as the sounds disallowed.