A Sliver

of cognisance between what
you know and what you have
seen.  Light particles
accelerating thorough the event.

And in the hallway, doors open
and close.  Lights flicker, then
vanish to appear again a drink
south, a conversation falling

from the table where events have
congealed.  This is a game of
pick-up-events, without disturbing,
without ruffling.  Without consequence.

In the aura of memory, equality
rules.  In the rule of today, events
are pollen in the wind, an irritant,
a photo of.  In the moment that

you spoke, the air cracked and
I will never know if everything
escaped or entered.  It’s just
that everything is different and

I am breathing a different air,
seeing a different light — the way
it clings to the sounds we make,
the way we try to communicate.