PROGRESS REPORT
PROGRESS REPORT
There are mornings
when I feel
like I am moving toward something
so large
and so bright
that it bows at the edges,
bleeds out over my life
and covers it
with a thin film.
The film dries on my minutes
and slows my hours.
It gums my working parts
and makes my activities murky.
It sops up the fun
no matter how much I throw at it
and the nearer I get
the more I am covered
in its fine residue.
And as I go,
I wonder when
it will fill my lungs
to the top
and stop my playful whistling.
When it will seize my arms and legs
when the gears will no longer turn.
But it never does.
And each night
as I look back
on the events
(as they passed through
my bedroom, my city, my circle)
I can see them
just as you might,
from the outside
where the moments
are preserved in amber
looking so adventurous
so delicious
so marketable.
And I realize
that this haze
is fooling you
just the opposite
of how it’s fooling me.
And I am left to wonder
how much fooling
will go on,
before
I have discovered
where exactly
that large bright thing is
that’s causing all this confusion
and how much longer I will have to walk
before I figure out
what the hell it does
in the first place.