Photo courtesy of Maria Molinero via unsplash.com

Sprinting, squeezing through the metal doors,

my mind a passenger on every train,

careening through a cityscape of deadlines,

past endless blocks of tasks that must be done,

now dipping into tunnels webbed with worry, 

then out again into the blaze of dreams, 

each line a frantic scramble toward tomorrow, 

carrying me to everywhere but here—

where skin, two lungs, and heaving heart belong.  

That clock inside marks every moment

equal with great care, oblivious to

the schedule’s crushing weight,  

egalitarian it binds me to inhabit—

without consent—each moment like the rest  

(not wider in my bed on Saturday morning

than in this pulsing labyrinth of steel).

If only I could learn to step into the space 

inside each second

and feel eternity reverberate

up my spine and creep along my ribs 

until the thudding slows and shoulders fall

and float once more where they were made to hang, 

and weld my mind and body to you here.

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