Joshua Keiter

There’s a run on gasoline 
everyone’s filling up plastic bags with the stuff 
in such short supply 
for maybe the next few days 

Another war in the Middle East 
so predictable which side suffers more losses
what did you think 
this shit runs like clockwork 

Listening to NPR has taught me 
there is such a thing as a third ranking
leader in the people’s house 
truly the next victim of cancel culture 

In the final couplet images are correlated 
except in this instance I got nothing

All the dogs 
were taking their humans 
out for a walk 
after dinner today 

leaping unbounded 
into the brush 
their leashes extended 
to their limits 

at once a cacophony 
so happy to see each other 
so eager to continue 
this way along the path

Hypothesis— 
motion is an illusion 
caused by the brain 
to make sense of 
the still frames 
happening all the time 
time which is also 
a construct to make 
sense of eternity 
through which we live 
and breathe and have 
our daily sandwiches 
what if these cells 
over interpret sense 
cicadas every seventeen 
years emerging for sex 
part of the cycle 
we cannot witness 
only observe and study 
with skills we practice 
over and over again 
and again a film looping 
back to the start 
the same image we know 
a result of its motion

To remember when 
your temporary absence 

meant a slightly older 
child throwing toys to 

the younger child 
in the playpen 

to help them feel not 
alone what abundance 

you gave us to project 
our gifts freely out there 

with luck landing softly 
in an ocean of loneliness 

we can make less lonely 
because of your love

Change is by no means 
guaranteed 

the forces arrayed against it 
are legion 

but listening to those who 
could hear 

themselves for who they are 
beloved 

despite all auditory
evidence 

to the contrary and bore 
witness to 

those who take comfort 
in blindness 

just listening to them 
would be a start

What if what 
we thought was lost 
was not really 

lost but hiding
among the shirts 
and socks and pairs 

of unknown things 
at the back of drawers 
we never open 

by virtue of their 
inherent disarray 
and all it took 

to discover what 
we thought was lost 
but was not really 

lost was this opening 
a few decades or so 
we have to find 

the space it takes 
to close the whole
disguise of things 

wrapped around your finger

At the mere suggestion 
of a song 

in the car I turn it on 
and I am back 

in the room of 1991 
hearing those

chord changes echo 
across distances 

knowing they would 
be waiting 

for when I needed them
somewhere they 

are playing just before 
the first time 

someone presses record 
getting closer to 

the sound we make against 
the backdrop of 

the infinite among us—
then the reprise

Instability in 
the atmosphere 

the only constant 
as change arrives 

without warning 
half of the sky 

miscommunicating
with the other side 

no shared language 
from one sunset 

to freak rainstorm 
so far from normal 

the only thing to do 
is wait it out 

but be prepared 
to close the windows

Thinking of the souls 
who never even knew 
the pandemic before 

they left us here 
bereft and alone knowing 
in their post life 

all knowing kind of way 
the travails they might have 
had the insight 

to carry us through 
instead of a phone call 
we communicate with them 

by virtue of their lack 
of ears or any other 
signifying flesh construction 

where did they go 
where do they go before us 
who seem to stationary 

here even as the days 
unmasked begin to accumulate 
like getting accustomed 

to premonition of heaven 
all life extinguished except 
for us promenading through 

the woods littered with pollen 
finding pavement instead 
of fertile ground 

it is enough to know 
we knew them in their 
recent absence unaware 

how much we miss them 
days culminating in lack 
of loss so profound 

we don’t know what to do 
with ourselves