Time In January (Poem)

though I would like to hold time in my hands

cradled to gaze into its prismed fragile depths

I would be shattered by what I would see

the ordinary moments with the power to undo

the icy fragment of morning slicking the pavement

the juddering echoes of the bone white moon

the sharp blink of a crow’s eye destroying across January’s eons

the sudden crack of a gunshot felling one hapless deer

and somewhere else men are falling dead

these passing brief are already too hard to know

I cannot repair with my current meager tools

myself being in constant dissolution and dissolve

unbecoming and mostly not there