Joshua Keiter

We were not born
with an aversion to the past

to the moment by moment
infinitesimal delay

recognizing that
we cannot cling to this

much longer before
there is another

more tenuous to connect with
moment that appears more ephemeral

with each passing glance
out the window river of trees

buds so small
they cannot be seen

the clinging on the contrary
comes later

when it becomes increasingly
evident the only constant

is cliche as in the repeated phrase
I have heard this one before

and each moment is an opportunity
for something new

but before you blink
even

it is gone

I spent the service
looking at two

deflated balloons
settled in the rafters

Before I let go
with both hands behind my back
let me just say this:

The question is not
whether the rock can contain
an abandoned life

But if life escapes
the rock—to languish and thrive
in labor and toil

Outside of the gate
separating atmosphere
from lack of presence

Who is then to say
the world is not so unmade
that we should control

To shape and tinker
designing what is without
design—such as this

Mountain put aside
for the sake of a new road
same as the old road

In that it traversed
the same path thru the empty
landscape abandoned

After extracting
all natural resources
and since become things

Long returned to ground
and far below the old bridge
beside the new bridge

Which cannot return
to rock—for they have begun
the demolition

No longer a thing
discarded it can return
to its destiny

Prefabricated
before we took liberty
to undo our birth

Wondering who could
have designed this strange nonsense—
so much to improve

We don’t have the time.

If you are granted
three wishes, make the first wish
infinite wishes

Nothing in fine print
should prevent you from taking
all that you require

No one in this life
gets what they require—that’s why
wars begin with war

No cease fires here
nor other tinderboxes
set to light with light

Sunlight that falls on
your face took millions of years
to reach your fragile

Then interrupted
by a passing cloud which took
a second to form

For my second wish
I would like perhaps to take
my first bad wish back

Echoes of the spheres—
regret makes it possible
for the earth to turn

Maybe it turns back
gets tired of its direction
every now and then

When calendars end
our only recourse is to
stop a horse midstream

Which it found a way
to step within more than once
tired of its crossing

Across galaxies
only one thing can travel—
dim radio song

If there were no eyes
we could not see the sound made
when strung together

Like this like that like
this like that like this like that
like this like that and

Infinity smiles
it makes nothing not a sound
in love with itself

And its productions
of time quietly humming
within the bottle

And so I will let these moments
halt and accumulate

imprecisely and without merit
from one distance to the next

with no thought of what came before
or what followed as eventually

there comes a point in the distance
it is not here yet

when these moments coalesce
into indiscrete undifferences

and will see as it were
the motion that brings forth

as water from a great untamed sea
what singes action into movement

at the pivot of what was will be what
whole towns float and dissipate

in the sway and mist of unseen
separate unknown muddy photographs

gathered into a basket
never to be filled unclaimed

for what else is there to do
but to live as if in wait

for the time that will be
and by definition remains unknown

still known as we are known
when distinctions leave nothing

to the imagination
yet they are not there

and never were but for a brief
distracting interlude

to the depths of suffering
such an insignificant sliver

delivers a different deliverance
impossibly

If you stay long enough in the theater alone
you will meet the ghost who lives there

The question of whether time travels differently
as age arrives unbidden A commodity

neither purchased nor requested
as in a catalogue that arrives on the steps

and you leaf through for nothing better
and find yourself ordering the first thing you see

Is not really a question because it is experienced
and no one has ever experienced a question

There is no mystery in the presence of a flower
only in a flower that has not arrived yet

because nothing ever arrives it only persists
straining to meet the light thru the window

as all things are drawn together
by the fact that they exist together

and you cannot think of anything separately
as one moment proceeds from preceding the next

for lack of proceeds the fund drive continues
and you watch the stale concert for lack

of anything better on at that hour
and you wake up at three am in the morning

wondering where the time went and where it goes
nobody knows but at least it cannot be counted

says the flickering specter across the table from you
as the ghost disappears into the refrain of rehearsal

for lines never to be delivered only revised
and revised perpetually until the final draft

And you close the window to keep the air out

If I told you that things
are impermanent
would that make things any better

If I told you that is that things
are always and only
false impressions
given to exaggeration
would that make the road seem less stern

If I told you in a manner of speaking that things
are held only for the briefest instance
a flickering legerdemain
as when the rabbit suddenly appears
conjuring a magician
would you hold the cavern of your eye closed longer

If I told you as all the great storytellers do
that once upon a time in the beginning
is where our story begins
when things meet their purpose
in the substance of their unknowing
would you take it as a given
that your mind is only in your head

If I told you the blackbird escaped its noticing
and things begin to break down
in the process of their observation
would thirteen be enough to count to infinity
would the banana peel still be slippery
would caution be thrown to the solid wall
and ricochet back in our faces
would there be time left for counting

If I told you in no uncertain terms
there is a harbor in the distance
to which you may take refuge
but if you agree to step on the boat
you must never return
to the self who carried you on the boat in the first place
and there is no space to keep your things
would you have enough change to make the trip

If I told you it is unlikely
that winter will ever end
not without taking all our things
and burying them indiscriminately
all over the planet only to be discovered
with the next thaw
would you still invest in a snow blower

If I told you that this is perfection
no this is perfection here
no here this is perfection
no perfection this is here
a slightly more embodied thing
would you awake rubbing your eyes in astonishment

If I told you somehow you have
escaped the realm of transcendence
and are now completely thing
and must rise in the morning like any other singularity
would the cereal still be served with spoons

If I told you that things happen
these things happen
it is the way things work
would that be any consolation