—Luke 1:19, 20
Go hit the kill switch.
Then wait. Then wait
a little longer. Observe.
Denise has this sleep apnea thing
when everything in her dreams stops
like we’d hit pause and mute both.
I can’t believe
what I’m told
of my father.
Worldwide, it is to be.
Billions pausing at once.
Denise shakes her head like I miss it
how she does it like that all the time
between each breath, asleep or not.
Calling a word
a message implies
it was meant so.
So as to hear it happen
back in Iggy’s nursery,
I turn the TV volume up.
Denise tells me to watch for the space
between each word if I’m to hear it in
the sound of any poem that gets read.
I’m told I’ve got
his blank stare
in my given eye.
Loud quiet. I expect it.
We hear bells instead.
Breaking the moment.
The break is the moment, Denise says.
We do it all the time, every one of us.
Not only to remember. To observe it.
Old death, new
birth, in betweens —
wait to say until.