What I Have

Twelve dollars sixty cents,

& the fact that there is no blood no storm

can’t wash into dirt, that the time for these words

             is already ended,

that for all the rain that has been here before

so have I.

          & there is less water in the world

than a famous woman once said, & I know that,

          & that the stars in the river

also are real I also know, for they disappear also

& refuse also to be touched. & I have touched

            bare things, & it works—

it can be the sole unbraided moment in a life—

but even so, what better days look like to me is still

            the tiny gore

of heartbreak, & long walks with small shoes

            that can’t be taken off,

& schools in a city I love that put molded cages

            over their clocks,

because that works too to remind us

we are not ready. & the worst of all is anything that

            stays as it is

                     when touched.

At lunchtime a woman famous for her ability

to praise the ineffable

                      says she can’t believe anyone returns

to where they came from.

            But of course they do. In fact

some do nothing else. & what is it they leave behind?

            Perhaps not the meaning of time,

but the time of meaning, & the fact that whatever

happens, tomorrow

                      will change it.