Breathing Time

There will always be someone
to tell you that cupcake frosting tastes dreamy
when eaten from a cup outside the 72nd Street subway station.
I am reeling in the day by way of night, making leaps
where the ground once looked frozen
and harsh. A starling will eat carrion
while its blue black feathers dazzle
the living in the woods. If I roll
amber on my wrist you will smell
it on the subway when you sit next
to me and ask me to draw the dress
you wore to the prom. I am breathing
all the time now, in fact, I don't even
think of breathing anymore, it just happens,
even while I'm sleeping you dream of dancing
while I'm not there. Cool to crisp to brisk,
all the people look brilliant in their
fall apparel. I'm still waiting for you to knit
my blue and brown hat. Did I mention
the periwinkle vest in Central Park? I did.
When you laugh I feel better. The sky is a constant reminder
that time is rushing by - and I'm part of it - because
when I stand my head scrapes the wind.