I keep running out of remembering. And. Here,

sitting as the sun goes down, the room holding my hands,

The door is closed. The light in the ceiling, unlike the light in the sky, is on, 

all around me, and all the breaths I breathe

bounce around this room and make the air mine. If I sit 

and sit, light filling in this circle above me

in a 20 square ceiling

All this room is

small enough to hold against the whole world rushing in,

small enough that I could find myself inside if I open the door and look in,

small like the inside of a second, and

I’m taking seconds, 

my eyes are large enough, the window in the wall is wide enough, for

the blue patch in an old sky and

dots of cloud flocking south…

a wind runs through sideways and 

lifts me from my body

makes a red mark on the horizon line—there—

so I draw circles of my eyes, place them in the right places, and I let them spin ‘round—