Signals, part 2

9.15.15

(part 1)

months pass mouths
pass months.
where was I that the night
was humid, that it shimmered
unchecked?

oh, it forgets itself,
ben svegliata-
every bloom
stirs for a signal.

     flowers whisper by the pond
     all night, we cross them
     on our cold walk home,
     the walk on which my legs
haven't stopped trembling.

what is surrender?
not thinking about it,
we tell time by our bodies,
     or time tells our bodies,
             or neither:
time races by
unchecked.  and from nowhere
it's near morning.