Sinking

There’s a door on the Edge of the world.
I used to write to you of it
but now I fear you might step through.

Who is to say these childhood memories
were lost?
When life came tumbling
tumbling
through. 
We lost that time, 
didn’t we?

I wish I could still taste
those crackers, all salt and dry soaking up saliva
on my tongue, melting, stinging
or watch over your shoulder
as in these dull graphics
life was opened and closed
in rapid clicks.

Those things are
gone
now.

I remember quite
the days of solemn good-byes
first once a month
I saw you
then once every few months
now scarcely more than
once a year.

That’s how these things work,
though.

Unlike that moon
which phases in this
always return
Unlike that sun
making its seething circles

The way we work,
we’re permanent.

I wait clenching my fists to match my heart,
wondering what news might come wash over me next.
I once thought the world could be like this abstract
presence -
no linear
always and never
the past and future -
all time melts.

Now, I am bitterly aware
of this possible permanence
that is weighing on your
recovery.

How that happened
I couldn’t quite know.

There’s a door on the Edge of the world.
I used to write to you of it
but now I fear you might sink through it.