nothing can happen nothing can change

the morning will always be

the blast of the train before it blocks the road

and the crows sharpening their gaze

remember how heavy time hung in the air

in the hot afternoon of childhood

moments dripping like limp leaves from the mimosa tree

disappearing faster than that one cicada brood

every labored breath took me forward

every fall a type of momentum

early lessons that any route leads somewhere

even for the dead