I feel like I am standing on my life
the past escaping from my footsoles
to be compressed into nothingness
by my weight and my weight alone.
It takes a large handful of effort
when the earth lies dormant
to dream of flower petals in view
and summer days on the wing.
If I could do it all over again
I would pay less attention to
detail and focus on forgetfulness
as a cure for all life’s ills.
I want to taste you, then long
for its return, plagued by words
and time, breath in deep
muscled spasm, then released.