tom taylor

newborn pressures

at light then the day’s pleasures emerge from
hiding out in the afterthoughts from which at
least they came unannounced to home in on
your most important moments in regard as now

foremost allowances cook underneath the heat
itself marking your own air at least breathable
for the anchor you bear before you in these mists
at noon at the light hour at the tempo unreserved

from the distance measured aloud in breath and
stem your heart beats every second in this drama
you’ve asked about repeatedly and not expected
an answer until now and here it is come upon you