Sunday afternoon light
so much cooler than

What should we name
this same song
what does the world call it
in a fix
stuck in a rut
back against the wall

We have this history
made of perishables
scents and objects
smell of citron and evening
of rainwet tree bark and the toll
of the tower in sliding in our heads
singing time's up time's up
but it's my mouth that's moving

You hear everything