Most of the time, we couldn’t tell that we were moving,
bodies, fog-slow, quiet as stone,
bed, still as a lawn.
Like Swiss neutrality, nothing happened.
There are 7 billion people in the world.
I am either one of them, or a mime.
To mow the yard, I yearn to set the grass ablaze.
Instead, I run out of gasoline.
In all the old movies about the Arctic
someone always warns,
Don’t go to sleep,
you’ll freeze to death.
In my head, I do the numbers:
thermometer jibs at absolute zero.
Is it any wonder I didn’t have a career in magic?
Thank you for your patience.