A batch of cookies
A helping of salad
A boy’s bubble of charged glee at a finished project
An hour
A Paul Auster movie from the 80’s that makes you laugh and remember her and wonder, how she even knew, at her age, that the film was funny
A set of tires approaching
On sweet and subtle street
Soft in the night it lays stacked with reems of lamplight
The fuzzy moments of ordinary time
Like the brass and braided talismans of pocket-trinket-universe
Keys, chains, pens, a notecard, a punch card, a folded note, a string, a bended paperclip, a thing
All things we find
All things all time we find ourselves winding
Fingering the cold smooth curve of a key or quarter or,
Softly folding the corners of an evening
We do
We live
We arrange
We know
We are these things
And the clock starts over for us in our counting, the minutes it takes to climb into the sky