Air

I’ve finished my writing and cannot
stop: on the edge of the table
the shapes I invoked still dance
there’s too much oxygen, it makes me dizzy

Like a nerve I snake through
my beloved city and do not distinguish it
from the photos; syllables leap
as if spurting from the school’s drinking fountain

In my previous life
I was a molecule ( I’m writing all twisted, puppet-like)

I’m through with my youth and can’t
find myself: the pulse of the loudspeakers
throws me back to the school’s corridor
down which went a hunched over man

From his pocket, tears were pouring

Sister Poetry, who could have known
that Time would bang so on the window
that air