it’s the earring that vanishes
on hitting the ground, the last pill
of a nonrenewable prescription,
one bounce, and singularity.
It’s all the socks, the tax forms,
the entire afternoon that’s gone
in a couple of pages of a good book.
The shadows under the table
that suck in strays with a gravity
so insistent you will never
get them back.
And it’s the sudden appearance
of that favorite pen—a room away
with no intervening steps.
Physics is just catching up.
It’s the thud that consumes itself,
leaving one teetering on the lip
of anguish, wonder—the unwilling certainty
of dimensions that sometimes leave
traces of poetry.