August 17

Not imperceptibly
the days get shorter–

slight variance,
shade of dawn ochre,

another day comes
crashing in.

I went to the counter-rally
pretending to be a photographer,

but when the ball blasts
went off I just ran

without thinking
or taking any shots

of the bodies hurtling
toward me in a haze

of chemical dispersal,
covered ground

without comprehension
or feeling, only

seconds later
realizing

what I had
and had not done.

The days accelerate–
a high shutter speed stops

movement but requires
more light. These days

I stay up too late
and undercook everything–

some of these days are already
nights.

OPTIONAL POETRY