Sarah Menefee

he sits on the stone seat in the river of Market
and looks into the light

the light changes he said and I feel time

he speaks of the slant of the golden light when the season turns
and it seems the night with its mystery is coming

the light is a veil of life

he speaks of the sidewalk wet in the rain
I think of his words when I’m out in the wet
The occult perfume of cement

I wake up in the morning and call for my mother like I never did before
what was that you dreamed about time? that word you made?