by Yocheved Friedman
Sometimes I can feel the things around me shaking
The chair, the bed, where one wave of energy is exhaled
Just as another is consumed
So that the effect is the creaking of these pieces of the earth
The tremors of things passing through objects and fluid
All of this energy is attached
Contained within their own integrities
But also, spilling over into the boundaries of the floating masses
Around them
So that the chair, is not really a chair
But the space between the table and the floor
Kinetic molecules breaking past the frames of objects
Being pulled into the warp of other frames
Everything is an afterthought of everything else
Color becoming smells / the earth dripping into Saturn
Energy is simply converted into other forms of energy
In much the way that we are just the human shapes of recycled memories
Plastics that are melted down, bones and joints refastened like machine parts
Someone has broken the sound barrier,
But maybe, at the very end, speed had turned into sound
The energy simply converting itself, the remapping of its constellation
The earth is a cyclic shape
Every moment, it is remaking itself
