If I could be a gnome on a Wednesday
I would strip naked as a blue jay
and soar up screaming mad to the nearly stars
in praise of the lessening of my body

I could own the moment, the short short moment
that defines a man as more than a voice
more than bones or sinew or hope – own the moment
find my way to the cloud-carpet that divides me
man from man, sight from sight,
angel from devil – and be most me
in the inbetween.

If I could be a gnome on a Wednesday
I would connive and control and capitulate
careen and congest and configure and reconfigure
all of the featherful bits of thoughts
in praise of the nothing that every cell truly is.

If I could only lease the moment, the brevity of breath
that defines a man as more than a choice
more than hair or nails or faith – lease the moment
find my way to the moonless space between the sun
that adds me and subtracts and accept me
man as man, sight as sight,
balance and explosion – the very me that hangs
in the inbetween
until all agreement expires
just in time.