I launch the time machine by opening
this case of photographs locked against time
present and future. Even places (Newark, Paris)
frozen sepia and white 100 years removed
marveling at light and air from 2017.
Waking in a feverish afternoon and thinking,
“It’s much too early to get up.”
Realizing the sun is somehow now misplaced,
rising in the west, I weakly stand.
I’m a sundial gnomon. My shadow warped.
Heavy the oar to him who’s tired,
lightened by the sunset over the harbor.
Heavy is the saltwatered, rain-watered oilcloth coat,
drying beside the sleeping sailor and fireplace.
Morning’s red sky and heavy the sea.