time

in oklahoma, i see colin. we eat soup at whole foods and drink juice at all of the places that close. we drink coffee and talk and laugh and dream. some days you know mortality. "i want good things for you"--the epitome. replace hollow words with even the feeblest of deeds--with even omission.





we drink tea in his garage. socks over jeans. werner herzog questions the penguins. brent hodge plays with light and fire--there are records and laughter and there is some sort of meaning behind it all, and some days we feel more than other days like we know what that is.





















no one said “time”
but i heard “time”
like the ocean or like a diamond
treasured and beautiful
(certainly not for weakness)—
valued,
a shameful thing to waste.
lost
like cachet ii:
we could stand beside its shores,
the dust in its waters denying envy a home
(and, for that, seeming all the more
to be the very symbol of envy itself)
and cry
“timeless! these glaciers
were here long before us
and will be thousands of years hence;
there will always be time to drink later”—
we knew it to be something we could count on,
but one morning perhaps it’s reduced to puddles,
nearly emptied overnight.
i heard “time”,
treasure time
like the ocean or like a diamond,
or like cachet ii.
don’t waste time:
make good on even the detritus,
and maybe the lake will be filled yet again.