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.