Some things are assumed:
bicycles with two wheels,
faucet running while sink fills,
to float, to spin, to stop.
That there’s a place to start,
for instance, or that there’s not.
The temperature, for instance
scales up each summer day
while the layers come off.
We reduce, we melt, the effects
of heat. We are born on a date,
another pattern emerges. I can’t
keep the spoons together. I’m
jump-roping in circles. The moon
explodes through clouds. That
was some awful and terrifying
darkness. I’ll return to my abode.
It won’t be long now. It won’t be
long until I cannot find you.