There are 1440 minutes in a day.

The nurse tells me my heart beats

80 times per minute – 115,200 a day.

So many moments, exacting products of distance

multiplied by the charge of absent love.

* Though a “moment” is an inexact measure of time, in physics, it is something that can be calculated using a formula.           {\displaystyle \mu _{n}=r^{n}\,Q,}




Walking through, you too are on display.

All of us, visitors, observing, studying, interpreting

what we see, trying to find meaning

and connection. I quietly study you studying.

And I pencil sketch our life together.


Love’s Offices

We wander the building, looking at signs,

hoping somehow to find the right one.

But what do we know? We’re lost.

These monastic, austere, lonely offices hold someone

waiting for us. The door unlocked. Enter!


(This poem recalls two moments from “Those Winter Sundays” by Robert Hayden, though much more literally than Hayden.)