When my string pulls her to the surface.

At the pool, where I pretend the peak of my belly

touches my spine

if I lay

flat on my back,

a woman swims laps, and all I can hear is the opposite

of a pattern someone who is just trying to get through the day

makes.

Between splashing cacophonies,

I still thought about the times I wanted to say something

different but sometimes I am crushed

ice that I can hold on

to with one hand before it melts,

And,

I think we like things with which we see projections of

ourselves and wouldn’t it be

nice

if we weren’t them

but something just close enough to the surface

of the pool

that we recognize others

in our

reflection too?

My chest hurts when it’s hard to say ‘no’

and ‘yes.’

With each breath growing more shallow, I thought

should she drown from exhaustion,

I was the only one there to

save her.

I imagine throwing her a string to pull her back up to the surface,

“IwasabeautifulgirlPleasedon’tgoItoobelievemybodyismadeofglassI’veneverlovedanyoneIthinkofmyselfasfunnyForgiveme…”

Krauss explained that in the Age of String, shy people carried a wad of it in their pockets and used a piece to guide words that otherwise might not make it to their destination.

There used to be a time when there was no moment but the one under the sun and there was no

shift in the universe

that could keep it from going

away too soon.