This is what we do now
Con/Jur/d, 5/18/2022

Our eyes idly trace two
black power-cords belonging
to very different devices
ends hidden in the snarl
we can’t tell them apart

Even after our birthday
one which felt worrisome
they called us kid, even
though for 40 years,

and then some, if you count
the kalpas, and the accreting
moments when time ceased
and we slid back and forth
across the object, tree-like
leaf-like, branch-like

roots planted firmly 
in the firmament of 
our beginning, our middle
and our end

, friends called us Old Man
and although later 
we found an explanation

Because, Because, Because

the focus on the ending
threw us off balance
excusing those lies,

we use to forget

what is,

sunlight on water, moss-covered trunks
green variegated leaves, birds call
through darker pollen coated
needles, emerging from
early morning fog

nothing after
nothing before

we settle into this.