what I have to do. How many pieces of light
I’d need to assemble to form a complete morning.
How many species are left to be discovered
in any particular rainforest. How much B12
I’m supposed to be eating daily. Sometimes
I actually click the little walking icon on Google
maps just to see how long it would take me.
I stare at the endless miles because that some
-how feels productive to me now, in light
of everything else. I don’t know. I don’t know.
I just feel bubbly like champagne even though
I’ve never even had champagne, just this gin
& cheap rum & being finally over my head
in the deep end of this pool. But still, I’ll hold
my breath for as long as I need to & the forest
will never go fully dark & for once it will seem like
all the obstacles aren’t as big as they used to be,
though they’re still so big. This is where a hunter
or sportsman might shine, but I could never be that.
I just want a little quiet somewhere under perfect
sunlight & a small rabbit & enough time to write
you a book that doesn’t end. In a place where words
don’t fall on the rock & the faucets don’t stop
running. Where it all just flows like nice, warm
honey & never needing to turn on a lamp. Where
it all gets brighter & brighter until the sun rises
again. A portrait of us. A million windows.
A parable where we hold our lamps up together.
Nicholas Bon lives in Tallahassee and edits Epigraph Magazine. Their chapbook, My Circus Mouth, is forthcoming from Ghost City Press, and their recent poems can be found in Yes Poetry, (b)OINK, Dream Pop Journal, and elsewhere. They can be found online at nicholasbon.com or on twitter @1000000horses.