Talk

I had a conversation with myself this morning. I rambled on and on about what I would do with my day time. I finally decided to sit down at my desk and write. Write out a long, drawn out rehearsal of time passing.

When I looked up from the lonely computer screen, you were no longer sitting in the comfortable chair across from me. You had started the car engine. The revving noise, a distant dream. You, a train destined to an orbiting sky full of scenes. The very scenes I had written down in stars.

Of nonstop writing
I was swallowed.
Of staring out windows
I once wallowed.
Imagining animal talk
and shadow dances.
Us, lurking
in dark spaces
set to music.
Finding words
to match the rhythm
rolling in ink.