the best day

I watch as others' moments fill up

with sound to overflow, the needle

of their experience dipping in

and out of time, pinning up the

notes of their songs into the present,

tattooing their actions in so many pictographs

on the muse that is memory, or at least

writing it into their histories...

on the corners of their activity I sit

wishing sound was, itself, recording all

for love, even the slightest movement.

the best day doesn't exist without you.

it sits, draped over our fingers, dangling

from our ears,

green like ink under our skin, telling me

time and time again

that a day doesn't end with the night or begin

with a sunrise. its underpinnings seem

much more intricate

it isn't caught up in hours

and minutes, but rests in the response of

one person to another, a day birthed by,

a time caused by, knowing.