On the train, sentences of disaster form—
unform: endings running like a river
to estuary to gulf. Won’t it come,
though, in water, fire, or wind, a hand closed
or opened? No matter but material.
No time but seconds passed, the present
downstream. On the train I say I know why
I am here. To love you in this the only
second of life we have for certain.
A second life, not halved but doubled,
the doubling mitotic, exponential.
I was wrong about the form. I arrange
sentences like snow and wait, restless
under my own hand. O it’s all water now.
Part of 'In the Beginning of Covid-19', a series of poems curated by Jason Dodge in 2020