Against the Sky

Tiny, new habits of
muscle hitch my hand and
pen and encrypt each word
as it’s put to paper.

Lines in the letters tend
to angle off for no
reason like the joints
where bare twigs thicken a
bit and shift direction.

I’m as stunned as any
newlywed when, later,
the gist of the marks I
tried to line up like words
on new tombstones settle
into tense and syntax
I can still understand.

But time takes my words back,
and what I jotted on
this dry scrap folded in
a coat pocket, buried
in the closet and pulled
back out of the dark when
fall came around again
is completely lost but
remains lined up like
perfect tombstone words.

Header photograph © Christopher Nielsen.