Present

I get up when I
get up

I wake with a sigh,
a cough, a smile

sometimes gasping

but do what I do,
and don’t do what
I don’t do,
when I want to

without thinking,
without tacking on meaning,
just living

I get up inexplicably
and then
I get down

I cry during the movie
drinking smuggled whisky

Without thoughts
about overarching meaning,
longevity

Letting continuity
define its lines,
like a river
running through cool sand
on a moonless night
outside me

It’s a luxury

I don’t fight it
I let it take me
there, or here

I don’t move, yet I bend

into a yoga position
assumed by arching
my time, my mind

Bending, then reaching,
then arcing until finally,
reaching