Eleanor Ellis

we are the only ones that disregard time

plants tell day-length in precise intervals
they open their mouths by day and become green

but we speak long after the dark comes, and the
energy of our words come from some other light
(not the sun), and we forget about our cells,

the microscopic divisions of our day,
the precision of our speech.

I wonder sometimes about the syntax of the sky,
the way you said dawn and dusk
were interchangeable, that we fall in love with the habit
of rising and falling and I wanted to say

time does not disregard us:
and neither do these words, these bodies:
our four-letter twelve-hour existence, particular to this
arrangement of latitudes and chromosomes,
is ours.

I open my mouth in the imprecise darkness and become blue,
afraid of the childhood fairy who might sprinkle
glittering ambiguity upon my eyelids
and lull me into sleep.