All at Once

In the beginning was the whir. The whir made flecks.
Impossible now a snow across the roads like smoke, animated lace, supple, 
     hovering tracery. Impossible such tall flames.
Somewhere mutter every word we must not blurt in airports.
Somewhere hum to thrum of wind over bottle’s lip.
Somewhere maneuver shopping cart, mouthing brand names.
Somewhere lurch and curse in barroom murk, clutching torn felt.
Somewhere say “Maple, loblolly,” watching light dwindle through windows.
Somewhere tiptoe on stairs pressing bald spot to ceiling, making of it sombrero’s
     brim.
Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.
The world is all that’s just in case.


Aaron Anstett