Photo courtesy of Maria Molinero via unsplash.com
Sprinting, squeezing through the metal doors,
my mind a passenger on every train,
careening through a cityscape of deadlines,
past endless blocks of tasks that must be done,
now dipping into tunnels webbed with worry,
then out again into the blaze of dreams,
each line a frantic scramble toward tomorrow,
carrying me to everywhere but here—
where skin, two lungs, and heaving heart belong.
That clock inside marks every moment
equal with great care, oblivious to
the schedule’s crushing weight,
egalitarian it binds me to inhabit—
without consent—each moment like the rest
(not wider in my bed on Saturday morning
than in this pulsing labyrinth of steel).
If only I could learn to step into the space
inside each second
and feel eternity reverberate
up my spine and creep along my ribs
until the thudding slows and shoulders fall
and float once more where they were made to hang,
and weld my mind and body to you here.
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