i look over my glasses at myself
i begin the next sentence
“this is autobiographical”
it took me this many steps to reach you
it takes this many to be facing infinite directions other than
this isn’t a warning but a gauging of realities
it’s now one of the infinite strings.
i don’t want my love to know what i mean by “poet’s time”
i told her; she knew the clocks by which i abide even before
all of the ocean is filled with darkness at some eventuality
if i were blind we probably wouldn’t have had a conversation
your eyes were full of daunting expectation.
there were obstacles planted by clocks
i walk more quickly next to water
my blue and brown glasses are more full of sight
there are always birds if you look.
i move my house away from yours
you lock yourself in linearity and i have no propensity
if we had water to walk around this would be a non-issue
i would lose you to find you, which is now
as it always is now where you make the mistake
we start a year later.
that’s now in poet’s time.