• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 05


The hours steal upon me unexpectedly,
in the all-encompassing metropolis
that is eating holes in the world—
those hours of childhood rambles on the farm,
through fallow fields,
past peach orchards, chicken coops,
to a dirt road trailing through the woods
to our house, where I’d stand at the front door
atop a flight of brick steps,
squinting out over the treetops
to the farmhouse and barn
shrunk, from only a mile away,
tinier than my thumbnail.

The hours of those days surround me,
permeating my uprooted mind
unexpectedly, when I’m reminded of things
like my grandfather’s flower garden
long years ago, before time existed—
where hummingbirds beat their wings
so much more leisurely in comparison
to the pistons of careening beltway vehicles,
or the arrhythmic, frantic hearts
of tense, distracted pedestrians
stealing along rootless city sidewalks.