the slow but the restlessness

when you take apart our hands in reverse

looking like every universe has just exploded

 and falling quietly into the night

it's like waiting for the slow backwards rolling

of that one incessant thunder

of maybe some beat from afar
as the stick moves up and down out of our hands

and you wish it would focus into view faster

and this piece would crack right in

but that waiting

and living in the quiet separation

of my breath towards the door

by the unruly lights that smell so focused

the wanting of an idea that seems universal

and maybe even everyone else is wanting

and that is the wanting you are looking for

 and there isn't even a word needed for it