It's beginning to happen,

a new head settles atop the body,

telephones rarely ring

in our pockets anymore.

In the presence of my destroyer

I arrange myself calmly.

We collapse the marketplace

in a cart of acorn squash

the size of children's heads. A lone

vendor builds himself a memoir

about the changing cost of fruit,

makes a private investment in truth.

In the presence of my constructor

I hold myself dimly.

I lean forward again. I wait

for my muscles to be brought

to me. I save all my large ideas

for a moment already past.