SWITCHBACKS

getting hard to breathe
as we approach the troposphere
but here the poem comes curling up under my tires

dan takes a look from concrete elbows
as I wait inside
a sandy haired boy plays beside me
as I rehearse the spaces in my mind

I build houses in the between of sleep and seeking
like the film that would have played
if we hadn’t woken from the dream
premises premises premises

we built our own world
a startling prophetic script
nerves alight with candle fire
spikenard smokes in a way words can't

catch me up in your story 
up, and up, and up,
backwards and forwards and seven times

sketching by lamplight and a fading twilight sun
it all surfaces like slick sea foam
pencil head embedded in the eraser

9.15.22

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