wishing for something new—not
new to humankind, but new to us:
an unexpected conversation, some
experience of another human’s way,
some turn of phrase or thought
we hadn’t had before. Anyway, we stare
and the brown sky is silent,
like our minds, like our lost encounters,
saying nothing back to us.
Our hearts will beat like this
for years, craving that next thrill
of the unforeseen: because,
as I heard once in a phone call
with a distant friend, time passes
evenly, but with no marks of Newness
seems to slip whole weeks & years
into a blank and sightless void, so that
thinking back, it seems time cheated us
running swiftly toward our ends
when all we can recall is some
cold, unfeeling, brown & starless sky.
December 2020
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