Barbara Daniels
If Einstein is right

we’re already dead. All of our elements
lift and float, regret a glint of bright water.
Time = space and we’re in it, clomp

of your feet in cheap garage oxfords.
You beside me, that’s what I love,
not the distance between us, the spikes

of light. According to Einstein, time
bends and shifts us. We’re milled
to new matter in roaring steam

like the chuff of a train on a new-laid track.
Time creates space, blood on gauze pads,
your blood in a basin. The clock

on the toilet ticks us backwards. I hear
what I heard in your Brooklyn apartment,
sirens and street noise. The sweet earth

wobbles, leans to one side and shudders
beneath us. Your arms grip me;
my heart thumps in the dizzy spin.

Atoms burst and decades twist past us.
I kiss your sweet lips, no space
between us, your beard in my ear.