Quantum
Standing at the edge of forever
isn’t as scary as it feels.
I push against the membrane, and you go
out, or you blow, and I pass
in dribbled molecules.
It’s the endless weaving in and out
through iron of gated breath, the thickness
of tapestry that wore us. It must be.
Bravely clutching our threadbare patches
against disposable truths. Nearly there.
The door looms, its very presence a challenge.
I fantasize slipping through the grain to taste
sugared air on the pastel side, but once
I swallow I’ll break this shingle.
Dangling over the edge of forever
is as scary as it sounds.
Dipping my brush into the birdless sky,
I add the sunset. This day needs done.
Taking up the spool, I try reeling
back up to where it’s safe, five years ago.
Was it really, then? It must be, but the sands
won’t shift and the door stands, firm.
Sometimes I feel my sacrum pressed
against the jamb, moving the immovable.
Our breaths dissolve in tides, a frame
of caving walls, swirling at the center
but never touching. Not without effort.
When I call out, you’re passing through
the eye, and no matter how hard I jab
my needle I can’t break.
Waking into breakfast,
I bite morning’s bread, cheeks
widen in diffused truth.
I’ve arrived.
