We live forever in a moment;
Her head slumps in my shoulder
as she drifts to sleep
Through the window
half light fractures the red cedar bark,
peeling back layers of time.
It’s the kind of light that used to mean
time to head home.
Shadows of branches distend
to the fuzzy green and brown floor.
Mom calls me home for dinner.
I begin to slump into the couch.
My stomach rocks like waves lapping the shore.
For a moment our bodies are like the salty sea foam;
formless and not divided by numbers.
The birth of things.
Of love maybe.
Or something beyond love, something that doesn’t die,
and like the foam it returns to the sea
only to remanifest.
It won’t be long before dark.
I wonder what kind of childhood memories she’ll have.
It’s not easy to transcend Space and Time on your own.
You have to sit very still,
with your eyes closed,
for a long time.
And even then it’s not a guarantee.
It’s much easier with someone else,
The mutual understanding is already there.
An agreement to terms and conditions.
Then Space and Time collapses
somewhere between a smile.