Notebook: the Kairos in Chronos

— Andrés Cerpa

After a night of self sabotage,

          a determination to obliterate the day, I woke in a thin sheet, later than I was supposed to,

to the sound of the already birds. In summer,

          I love to join them that way,

like walking into a bar where your friends have saved you a seat.

          Colin with his backpack on, standing to greet me.

Julia’s laugh as I kiss the back of her neck.

          If only I could enact the common wisdom.

The strong money tree, I sometimes forget to water, trembles with the blinds in a breeze.

          I’ve grown so fond of it, the tree.

When I wake & there are no birds, or Julia’s gone,

          it is here, in this studio apartment,

in one of the three windows that open to nothing special: a wall.

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