Dancing to Distancing Rhythms

A rebuttle
to the well...
'moving on
theory '

Crucial phases
threaded by sides of
lengthening conversations
take their places and
plant in the banks of my mind.
These are confessions
of a long time thief:
I take the shells, even the sands
I also take flowers
from unseen gardens
to lock them in my heart.
You become complacent
talking like the earth
will soon shake,
as if I should feel the shudder
narrow these one way tunnels
which didn't let you turn
leaving only the direct way ahead lit.
Permission? yes...
I assume it should
be there,
but I cannot help
that I have grown,
because I did not live alone.
It was Wednesday evening,
the air heavying
held back the summer,
'there' is valued
'then' is dreamed
like stolen smiles
piecing together broken glass.
I already keep countless onlys.
If only you could hear them speak.
There are so many
places I want
to touch and live
more than twice.
I'm caught between
the hurdles of
tommorrow and today,
as yesterday puddles
at my feet
rising to my knees.
I'm asked
what time it is or
if it will be Thursday.
All I can confirm
is that it is naked daylight.
Every moment
we frame with
the limits of seconds, hours
link into months.
I find I leak falling slow
into the next day
forgetting the last
has passed.
it is different
if only for me
swearing to continue
dancing to distancing rhythms.
The truth is that --
physically mind you--
neither one of us can turn back.
I have not yet
been stopped by this.
My mind
often leaves my body
I stow away elsewhere
perched in vantage
points of corners
holding open pictures
which move
with one questioning
only, a centerfold
waving
in the wind.