Place is where we all end up. Living.
Living is a motor that won't stop, won't start.
Start water, panic is a luxury, start water
Water to carry and spill, boiling and disappearing.
Disappearing sundrums splashing our boney feet.
Feet old on the ground where bricks are piling
Piling broken into the shape of this place.
***
Place becomes time if I stay still enough here.
Here I am where my feet rest on each other.
Other bedtimes collapse, other time zones gather
Gather the islands so we can hop.
Hop the stones, leap the rocks, rest in the shadows
Shadows boiling fast slow slow
Slow living. Slow stopping still. Slow building this place.
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