Timelapse

The moon’s white

moth wings

flutter by the

window 

above 

the warm

engine of

our bodies

flowering

and decaying

so quickly

in the dark.

.

The New Year

Detail of portico mural by J. Heineman

The feels like

is eleven below

and I’m out 

in my boxers

and slippers

under stars

helping the 

elderly poodle 

down porch steps.

The blossom 

of the universe

is petaled 

with fire

but I don’t 

feel that 

just now

as I wait 

for Lulu 

to 

     slowly 

                      pee.

Back in 

bed upstairs 

in our creaking 

house with

frosted windows

it’s a somnambulist

homesteader’s

square dance

as my family

annexes territory

with legs

and butts

and paws

reaching out 

in obtuse angles 

(Baby Willa’s by 

far the best)

until I’m relegated

to the northern 

edge of insomnia

where there’s

a dip  

a canyon

a spine 

bending gorge.

This then 

is where 

I contemplate

the nature 

of time

from this 

northern trench

at 3 A.M.

with one infant 

foot resting

on the back 

of my neck.

Lulu

bladder emptied

is happily 

wheezing

in the land

of Nod

and Jenny 

is silently floating

in a temporary sea 

of slumber.

Goodnight 

old year.

You could not 

have given me

one more day 

of love 

or sadness 

or joy.

I will remember

you with such

great fondness

at my death

when Time 

finally stops

and watches

me expand

then turns

and walks back 

into the disappearing 

woods.

.