By Mike O’Connell

my neighbors are stacked(neatly)around me,
doing what they do, quietly(finally),
mostly unrecognized, unaccounted for,
inherently mysterious.
we nodnsmile, for that brief second
when we bend around one another,
verifying our existence in the same
temporal structure, in the apparently
identical universe, driven forth by
secrets and desires, unknown to the other,
and ourselves. our destinations must be
varying, lest we create humanitarian
vortices from which there are no exits,
save for death. each a galaxy of
possibilities, held together by
failing physics, and recognitions that
time is a wave, and we are riding the crests
of now, fitting perfectly into what we know
as a day, that wobbly invention we serve
and sail. the neighbors drive away,
off to no one cares, alone and terrified.
we may see ourselves again some day,
when our moments merge, when our
clocks achieve singularity, and we
nodnsmile, one last time.