You can’t crawl back into a moment in time. You can’t slip into it,

easy, like a hand through a glove. I can’t go back in time, drifting,

sliding into memory, but I try. It’s fuzzy on the edges, but if I focus in,

tight, I can see your face, reflected in the wine glass on a windowsill.

Your mouth moves, but I can’t hear your voice anymore. A sunflower head

perches in it now, empty and dried out, the petals hanging limply

or shriveled on a hardback that I left to prop the window open for air.

I’m drowning in air and drying out too, and soon I’ll just sit,

withering away like that flower. Lost in space, wanting to pull back time

like a filmy curtain, and just see you there with me again.

But still, here I am, just waiting, and the time ticks on.