Upon Discovering She is Irreversible
       

At any given time, she owns only a nub of lint,
a dark photo in a back pocket, eared and creased.

In a year of earthquakes, she learns a fondness
for the way nothing is granted anyone

but the forwardness of time. She tries to wrap
her mind around the second law of thermodynamics,

has felt her entropy wane, her parts pulling apart.
She wonders sometimes if she is a quick joke

issued from the throat of a truant God. Every day
her wool sags. Her thoughts, like burned out

filaments, follow her, cold coils blackened and brittle.
At any given time, the earth could whim, yawn,

could surge her power at the speed of expansion,
the arrow of time long past.

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from Redactions
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