Once a Horse Danced the Can-Can
I awoke in the modern sense
the clock quipped, morning ripened
I clicked the image of late summer
falling to bruise and rot.
I thought a circle is the shape of light obsessing its object
but I stepped in,
forgot traffic changes state: solids
turn liquid, colloidal.
Inscrutable oily dots we resist
what we know to be true.
What else to do but lean in?
O mind you read the map the body composes as sadness
an axis around which hands pine
Hue to hue, today we walk like lovers,
orbiteers of a question unzipped.
What else to do but dance loss to the quick.