flickering, we live uncalendared.
Jennifer Moxley, “Underlying Assumptions”
Quivering, we live as if without limits
At intervals, we feel unbound to our feet
Mouthing words, we are carried by tides, great waves
whooshing
Periodically, we walk the beach unaware of the kelp and flotsam, clouds of glory flapping along behind
Between helium and neon we return, our faces painted green and orange—
in a gas balloon, jettisoning our precious books
On the back of a whale, chasing schools of oolichan, we dive
On summer evenings—in the moments before lights-off—we disappear, small girls reading Babar and Madeline, exploring desert islands, teasing tigers in the zoo
Writing, distractible we err, one ear always to the humid night, to crickets and thunder—
Writing, we are unselved, unsealed, moths flying out of a book, staining the pages with light-sensitive ink
Between pages we shimmer, unnoticed by thick-fingered readers breathing
with open mouths
Among will-o’-the-wisps we are unparalleled, our flight paths colliding in the library
Crushed yet still ticking, we are uncovered in a copy of Hamlet found at a garage
sale, we beetle over ramparts, spook the night watch
Between lightning bolts we return in mirrors, we return—
in accidental spills (hot tea),
in missing disks, erasers, earrings, names—in glances, tics and winks, the upsurge
of summer storms—
in hunger for sugar, aching teeth—hunger as if
without limit
