I run down the airport corridors
willing time to be still,
and, impossibly, catch the flight.
I sleep all day and in the evening walk
to the twilight waiting by the lake,
my body a heavier part of the dusk.
The lake looks obsidian turned
to slate by sudden rain
droplets widen into momentary
silver mouths under the jetty
the glint of insects on the reeds scattered
like sequins on the thickening fall
solo violin of a gull call –
moments bearing no notation.