thinking about molecular biology and quantum physics,
the sources of altruism, the notion of love over truth,
the beginnings of our current situation, computers and all that.
And I couldn't stop weeping for about half an hour
and I couldn't stand up for 45 minutes,
because it was every idea that I had been thinking about.
"Everything is a thing," the waitress said,
unsolicited, as she refilled my coffee.
Drawing away from the artifice and happenstance
of what we’re seeing and hearing,
every moment of every day,
the future is an open attempt to hold the memories,
to stop their wild wings from beating for a moment
and get a good look before they vanish in the air.
And at home, I sat on a radiator
and I sat on the floor, my pants pulling up
and I saw he/me had Betty Boop socks on.
For the final illness,
I want to be oblivious
but life shines with a certain acceptance:
that everything—love, home, loss
and the poem we write about them—
will eventually pass into immeasurable memory.