Switching On The Collider
And what if the click of that switch
(Did you notice the date:
10.09.08… like a countdown?)
had thrown us
the universe
into reverse?
If we were surfing backwards,
the crest of the wave
refurling into itself,
would, or rather
could we know
as every cell reverts?
We’d have to say this in Aymaran
(the past, they figured
as before them,
the future
a vague whispering
behind). Reeling back
to the moment we met (Yes,
this is a love song
that starts with the End)
would we be possessed
by an almost
inkling we’d already known
a life together… which,
come to think of it,
was precisely what
we did feel
falling
into recognition, each of each, ten years ago?
for Zélie
Ninth Month
No way out of it now, girl, you’ve grown
Biblical: a city builded on an hill,
you lean back, always meeting our gaze
across its skyline, with both your hands full
of it, absently stroking. I can almost see
it rising, pugged clay on the potter’s wheel,
shaping up, and silence rising with it, talk
exhausted, all attention circling in until
time and the room’s space mould in round
that gravity, and I think prehistoric: tumuli
on bare downs, a horizon that might blow awry
but for this grounding us, body and soul.
No small-talk. I think: birth mound/grave mound
/growing point. The word is gravid, after all.