Window of Time

There is a window of time
In which I deprive myself
To force the tunnel
In the direction of black and white
on yellowing pages
Holding together a falling-apart book
with rubber bands and tape
Holding the lid on with wax
Holding the paper in the water
Keeping shoes that have no ties
Keeping a third of the salt for myself to make as an offering
Keeping the pot for the bath with the honey

A third of my time must be for this and only this

Three cards,
A hat with gloves,
Something for the future

I look forward to the bottle, the denim, and the dye.

This day is for the future worn like socks with holes
dreaming of rubber-thonged toes.

My descriptive words use hyphens, because they sure as hell can't use me.

They are mine.
Nothing for ownership.

I behave in my mind like a vagabond.

( Future Sailor Boots )