Fulcrum

Fulcrum

There is the time before you move into the world,
thinking about what will be,

waking in what room, with whose body overlapping
yours in trust, what dog skittering in

to find you who you see only in sounds, toenails
skritching on the hardwood,

light jingle of collar and ID tags in time with his
steps. And then there is all

the rest of time, when you move amongst the world,
still so many unknowns, but

life seems to replace these. The spell of the nouns
called home, to you, the spell

of the life immersive and wet. You walked the plank
without knowing you were walking.