I Saw You In The Middle Of The Road And You Stopped Only Briefly

Momentum
slows the hands of
the watch, calls us to
push forward as
pieces of the wind
through green woods
tearing shingles
off of the roof tops.
Rolling over the
distant sepia-toned
memories, edges burned
and buried away in
shoe boxes,
then ebbing back
to its shore of origin,
ripping away the
color of leaves and
life of the trees.
We are in pendulum,
perpetuated in motion
weighted down by
a force that keeps
us so very close
to the ground, where
someday we will rest
in a box some seventy-
two inches down.