If time and speed
are relative,
then everything
is in motion
without moving,
simultaneously.
As I drive to work,
I slide through traffic.
The opposing lanes,
speeding along
at similar speeds,
appear to crawl
like window glass,
seemingly unchanged
as I stare out
at the changing seasons,
yet flowing
longer than we live.
This morning the traffic
appeared motionless
as the horizon
shifted.
The sky turned
like a lid of a jar.
An illusion, of course,
but as dangerous
as the semi’s
crushing past
through the morning’s
darkness, if not
more so. The mind
often catches the truth,
which our reason
quickly rejects
out of fear,
out of sanity.
But there
in that moment,
I glimpse the chaos
seemingly locked
in stasis.
Seemingly
explainable:
so I quickly
scribble
a line across
my hand or
an old bank statement,
hoping without
hope, I’ll
remember
the relative
distance between
sky and earth.
(from One Hundred and Fifteen Missing Days, circa 1996)
subtext 