Found and Lost

In those moments when light and dark are indistinguishable

—Meaning, of course,
That they have been so thoroughly removed from context and
Not that you are unable to truly tell the difference
between dawn and dusk;
Especially here, where the dusk still has the Great Valley
Stink of petroleum-based products
and old air carried down from the San Francisco delta;
But the dawn
That wonderful dawn, people-quiet and earth-vibrant
When mountains burst naked pink
And the dog isn’t barking next door
And if it’s Monday, maybe there’s a low rumble
Of the green waste truck two blocks down
And the scrape/roll of plastic on cement
As someone hurries his can down to the street’s edge
And shapes are just sharper and so are smells
But only in a good way
A cut-grass, dew-on-plant way
The way taste is after you finally stop smoking.
Just like that—

Those moments when I first wake from a nap, for instance,
And not immediately able to tell exactly
Whether it’s only dinnertime
or if I was able to sleep through the night
It’s in those moments when I have lost my sense of time
and I am still with you
Still naked pink bursting, still low rumble hoping
Still sharp and good.
And I ask myself, “Is this before we died?”
And every path is still before us.
Nothing has been chosen, set aside, thrown away, forgotten.
But again and again, the smell of delta air filters through
It’s dinnertime. I get up, stiff-limbed,
Work clothes post-mortem wrinkled.