And what did you do with your lost hour?
—Harry Teague
Well, I didn’t sleep, that’s for sure,
nor did I bake bread. Didn’t practice piano
or write a poem, skate ski or do sumo squats.
Neither did I throw javelins.
Nor fake my own death in a gruesome car accident,
nor steal modern art nor moon rocks nor whiskey.
I didn’t spelunk. Didn’t sink in a ship.
Didn’t crawl through the sewer.
Didn’t get a tattoo. Didn’t twerk.
Perhaps there was part of me
that did what I am always trying to do—
untether from time and lose all sense
of who I am and what I think and
what comes next and how it’s supposed to be—
yeah, I’d like to believe that for a lost hour
perhaps some part of me thrived and joined
with the universe so completely that it knew itself
as the dawn that comes when it comes.
