A Soundscape in Polaroid
We'll put on music to show time has passed—
the sound of keys falling, louder than the notes themselves float up motionless,
flowing as if we could not choose between
a month and a year or as if there was a difference at all.
I could see us waltzing, if I were more certain of myself.
A minor chord takes the place of candles, turning over its own warmth, friction
against air impossibly smooth.
In the fear in the sunset in flutes replacing piano shivers
we sing and vibrate still,
without a moon in our waters.
We read in the dark by the light of ourselves, never abating.
That’s what I imagine, anyway—
the moments were never gone at all
and past becomes future or future becomes past. Who can tell? Even the lights are tricking me,
grey into grey.
No apology is enough to meet
the burden of imagination.
I guess I'll try again,
after the music quits.
After the eons.
Logan Ellis is a student at the University of Tulsa, Oklahoma.
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