justwrite 8 february

the territory stretches to the left and also to the right in the clear chance of night rising too early the sun takes a turn and burns off all the rest of the paper the wrapping adapting to the climate change rearranges its ribbons and begins again I am staining the wood on the floor with more than its fair share of care there is hair and staring but there is no comparing these parting words with the left bank the right tank powering up the vegetables the food processor and when I was stretching my stomach was guessing at breakfast west of the horizon surprising each banana pancake mistaken from a song and carried too long into the breach beyond the reach of each curtain call we are stalling out but we are weighing our doubts against the clock I have forgotten how to answer I have taken others’ chances and ignored varied dances because who would like to disco but if you know the answer then you’ve seen those dancers balanced carefully between the wall and the neon-colored advertisements we are spies sent into the dark corners where the mourners drink their punch and bunch together like under-the-weather peonies and poppies adopting deflated poses posies appearing poetic or attempting such pathetic bliss that the one who matters will find attention gathering in this corner will see the spotlight the candlelight flickering toward romance and the next dance will be had and gladly and the blooming will be noticed by everyone but embraced by the only one who matters more than embarrassment the only one sent forth first into this unrehearsed territory planned so carefully aware of the moment and the time spent imagining it into reality