it will not serve you to wait, to linger idly
by the window counting the lines
in your left hand or the loose change
in your fringed front pocket. it will not make you wiser
to consider the plodding of the shore birds
or the summery grin of an ice cream truck rounding
the final corner in your neighborhood. you will not be
more beautiful in the nuanced light of dinner candles
or the vertical plunge of a dark red dress. the moon
will not wait for you. the sun is impatient as ever.
yes, there is something purposeful about clutching
your moments like so much sand, small granular spectacles
to examine and forage for their glinty promise.
but let me tell you: it is not the same as living.
come. follow this imperfect, furtive day
into a sooty downtown street.
you will not see the beautiful
black man selling cheap jewelry, or hear
the island song he sings under his breath.
you will not distinguish the five dollar bill
centrifuged in the subway grate,
or the poem you might have written about
the single-footed seagull swimming in tossed breadcrumbs
had you seen it in time.
instead, you will look up at some precise second,
the hot zenith of noon barreling down, nearly blinding you,
and the dumb luck of your next breath will land squarely, instantaneous,
into the palm of your heart, flooding your whole world with green.