the doe
startles off
to the sanctuary
of an old february

and the sorceress
unshuffles her card deck

with a soft ploink
the sun drops
into the river like a water droplet
without so much
as a sizzle

the village need never know
the shaman takes in
the sacred flower
even on thursdays

the sphinx has forgotten
the answer to its riddle
now it eats when hungry
instead of by some code

the reverberating moon
rewinds its purebeams
and sends them down
again and forever, in the fey

wound up
in the present
tense – following my air –
with all this awareness my brain
can watch
my breath
my molecules – all mine – until
a fresh, wet present tense
murders the last
then dies
beneath
the fresh, wet grasp
of a new present tense –
when i try to control my breath
i tense
my brain
wound up as if i were a watch
then, without awareness,
my body breathes
for me