Hot water is showered
over granules formed—
this is a geometrical genius: triangle.
From this heat touching inert potentialities,
out comes wisps of sleep leaving
and down is its liquid—
mad men’s necessity to keep going.
Yet here, I make it through the slowest form
to watch it bloom and fall and fall, drip by drip
particle by particle
potential by potential
wakefulness by wakefulness,
hoping that each drop is a second
and so a slower drop, a slower second—
I want nothing more
than many slow seconds
for every ready sip
for every ready sleep—
