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As I write this you're running in Chicago for your connecting flight
to the East Coast, zigzagging through the stroboscopic crowd, looking for
the silver plane you're already flying on in your thoughts. But you're
reading this three days from now home in San Francisco, your body in multiple
time zones while you tap on the computer I touch the keys from the other
side, the black reflection the pianist sees over the notes. Actually I'm
three days behind you, whispering in your ever-so-sensitive ear:
I can't imagine living without you now. And while your flight unzips the
continent this message streams to you in a string of electrons, capillaries
of gold lights mirrored in the glass windows of a merry-go-round, the way
we're only revolving electrons, neutrinos, colored quarks-particles as
interchangeable as coins, as if love has nothing to do with the person
who triggers it and springs up only because of the one who loves but you
are the only one I look at and feel this jolt shaking my spine when you're
near to me, and will that be soon?
Zack Rogow's most recent book of poems is The Selfsame Planet, published in 1999 by Mayapple Press: http://www.mayapplepress.com/books.htm He co-founded and coordinates the Lunch Poems Reading Series at UC Berkelely.
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