I’m struck by the speed of days

Like from a fountain, and on the other side

A spring. To waste not want not given only one direction

And instructions on the tail end. Regrets held

Chesthigh and fluid. Weaving a river out

And around my living room. And back to my bedroom.

And back to my living room. And back to my bedroom.

And back to my living room. How very bizarre and august.