“Matins”
You want to know how I spend my time? Me too. Where does it go? How have we gotten here from there? I opened my eyes and it was just after dawn. I closed them again, the clench, the squeeze, looking for some courage to rise, and when I opened them I found it was noon. I have a bad memory. A memory like a goldfish, which I hear is actually quite good, considering the size of the brain of the goldfish, but is still an amount of time you might think to be small. What happened last week? Last month? Last year? I don’t know. All I know is I am here, it is noon, I am on my knees, and the time is turning and turning and turning away. Maybe I forget because I am always in the present? Maybe I lose time because I know it doesn’t matter? Maybe the point is to continue without a sign, without a measure, without a guide or goal? To wake up and rise and live in this day, each day, whatever it is, clover or otherwise. You want to see my hands? They are empty, as empty now as the first note.
Read the poem here.