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that’s it
that I walked into the cafe
and in the noise and crowd
we met
and that I saw
what it was I’d been
in what it was
I saw
that in our skin
in the decade of our skin
is what began
before we knew
and that time before
with this time now
is nothing
waiting to start again
Copyright © 2007 by Edwin Torres. “In Each Look Our Years” was originally published in In the Function of External Circumstances (Nightboat Books, 2007). Reprinted with permission of the author.
The man, the woman, the dog, the ball.
The black man, the white woman, the black dog, the red ball.
Not once did I mention
the relationship between the man and the dog.
Never the lover, the ball. Nor the woman kiss
the man before the ball returned by dog.
Nor did I bother with waves, or ocean
or beach. The sun hitting the hair of the woman.
As the man came close to her cheek. The dog
caught in the sun, by the ball’s
returning gaze. Never do we learn
how intimate the man has been
Forever the mighty maze inflicts unchangement
a sly wander from the course unchosen.
If once this could have been what reflected continue
what exposed go, what gave most high staring
its relentless give, which all we wish, was a stay of let.
If once this breath-bomb staggered
to show its true stance; then we, collected breathlessly
by time's stammer, would have found reason for change.
we convince ourselves of what we need
allowing obstacle a rebirth as reason
the ground cracks and our body reacts
adjusting balance with footing, ear canal to cochlea
perspective shifts as focus clarifies, position of neck
to spine merges into planet's gyration