Well maintain well past when we should ; and the past itself too.

outlast the crescendo, take all those victories in stride.

Even the ones built in water , written in shorthand,

smelling too, of shortbread.

We’ve never been here before.

The ones where we are nothing , were nothing.

Even our fingers are floating , just hovering above the keyboard,

expanding like a balloon, like a t-shirt filled up up with air and surrounded by water in a pool

tucked into shorts,

after a cannonball, for instance.

tripping over landlines ,

falling right off the page, after that cannonball.

Ready to burst, and we let it go too soon,

inevitably drifting up towards the powerlines,

and subsequently falling right off the

page.