Daniel Langton

The phone, a woman’s creamy voice
calling across my mind, “Who’s this?”
I tried to answer, sing my song,
speak to who I am. A snail burst
through the room, giving me a choice,
I let go, Anne lent me a kiss,
and showed me what to bring along.
The world was loose and brown. At first.

What gets to stop is time. The door
they talk about is closed, the things
we hate to face are not around.
And yet, that’s not what life is for,
you get to find the part with wings
by forming patterns on the ground.