Poem: Chronesthesia III

Before we leave

I've left the tracked traffic

to resting,

emerge a cloaked identity,

or signal from barrelling worlds.

I hear out. Ships' sprayed noise 

like spume buildings, sand washing.

Before we go clank on

the scaffolding, I am practicing

extensing, cube by cube like a toy.

Play quartet, have habits, find 

passage with these colours and

remember the date you re-enact.

A photo of infrared makes pink and

the night felt untreated. So it goes

to the last occurrence of it. 

the association is the rose gold sky and bridge

walking past midnight in a straight line 

you leapt with all the build and guile

between two times at once