Now is not the Time

I have touched the thought of distant life
at the edge of that park on a cold Spring night.
Your hand entwined in mine but just not far enough.

An idea, a concept, students talk about over tea;
you mean something to me.
I would keep you frozen, if I could,
and try to forget that I remember you.

Not now, not now, it is not the time
to melt to see rolling ground underneath.
It was Spring, it was Summer, it was, it was,
but now is not the time.

Sleep never came, soft breathing and quiet padding
pawprints of cats at night on the cool wood floor.
I have picked away at dams, left water pooling on the dinner table
and made it warp.

There is no space for my inconstancy, your
careless attention to the damp forest my mind.
Study, I try, these moulded texts,
feel them slip away and crumble from lack of touch.

There is a human who has studied me
and found all there is to know to hide.
Safer still to have tea, and not to sleep
and not be learned.

Fear, like objects in the mirror are closer than they appear,
can break the cup, spill and chip,
shards of ice longing to break free.