More

I want more time
that does not belong
to a clock.

More mornings
with nowhere pressing
against my chest.

A camera in my hand.

Light resting
on the side of a building.

A child talking
and me
actually there.

Not folding laundry
inside my head.

Not answering
tomorrow
before today is finished.

I want to make things
that do not need
to become anything.

A page.

A photograph.

A sentence
I do not correct.

I want to leave
the crooked line
where it is.

Let the blurry picture
keep breathing.

Let unfinished
mean alive.

The steps are small.

Charge the camera.

Open the notebook.

Put the phone
in another room.

Ten minutes.

One walk.

One quiet hour
protected
like a small flame.

I have spent years
surviving.

Now I want
to notice.

The table.

The voices.

The evening light
moving across the floor.

My own hands
still capable
of making something.

My life
already happening.

Here.

Before I am ready.