March 29, 2017

Yesterday I purchased time.
I bought hours and minutes
I watched them flow.
I wore these moments on my wrist
counting down the seconds
like a promise I was making to myself.

Yesterday I saw a homeless man
hang his socks on a tree’s bare branches
– he roused my sympathy
this man with his improvised washing-line
and the tree bearing frayed yarn where
buds should be.

Yesterday I stopped to listen
to bird song on a cycle path
then returned home to the perfume
of fenugreek, cumin and nigella seed
and a burst of lemon zest.

I felt connected to the turning earth
the rise of sap, the return of Summer Time.

Today I watched fog curdle and curl –
harbinger of an undesired separation.
I fear I did not buy enough time
to make this future come right.
I feel dislocated, undone, unheard
– unhomed.

Today the hand will be severed
from the body.