open shutters overlook
   bells    umbrellas      energy
I    watch all day I am
  one pedestrian watch
              as        clock hands reach
slowly       one way                  up
to us which direction              walk
the bridge over the river
time the cobblestone path that
firms as marks hands gaff tape
on what slips                     this
plane this coil           weeks
     wanting not just this country
to last forever but what seeds
of doubt to be taken by wind
            stolen          by gnats
who sneak and fly into our space
if they could               digest what
we     put down plans to live
here in two years that cannot
come too fast it will arrive
a bullet         train when we are
sleeping on a humid night
in the                    future
                                        our
traveler bags                   brown
    and green     means
the forest meaning         opposite
of          open road if time
were this ambiguous than
I want nothing to do with it
but its hands are in everything
     bugs in the unfinished chianti
     drown        and            nothing
I can do to help
and I don’t want to
      drink   but I do

(originally published in The Round, Spring 2025)