This, too, is weather. The air
full, invisibly of messages
that matter so much we encrypt them.
No matter but an echo. Someone else’s
station. Hold still . You may look
at the screen next to yours. The windowsill
in your pocket. Go on.
The horse will trip the shutters, fly.
To capture (an image). To take (a photograph).
Screen grab or shot. A hostage lexicon instead
of sight. I can walk
through air that says running late or
should I bring anything? or yes,
she is. I can wait
longer these days. You may look
tired. The apple on the windowsill.
This natural light, the de rigueur
draping of cloth.
I am learning how to be a witness.
I am learning how to be
a clock. Everywhere, everyone practicing
their talk. Help, angels, make assay.
I am learning how to tick [wc?]
to you and learning when
to stop. (I’ll bring my bike over on Sunday –
you can help me true the wheel.) Hold
still please. Amid all this. I can