The September Sonnets: XIII

the talk of the town is the way tomorrow
creeps up on us like a centipede on the wall
inching toward our warm moist mouths
while we sleep everso soundly.

sunrise is the decreeing contentment
telling us that we cannot run west anymore:
the east is going to catch up with us
and make us flip to another page, write another story

or make another mark in the trunk of a tree
to let everyone know how long we've been here—
though we are not here, always:
we are moving still like the sun moves west in the sky

and we stay still,

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