Grain Of Salt

There is something
I suddenly do not know
about today,
and I am lost without it.

As if the moonlit nights
stopped mattering —
those were, of course,
crucial;

as if if this daylight streaked with occasional rain
had stopped or did not even start —
this was imperative;
I am powerless to know why.

As if there were no animals anywhere, ever,
beside the dog, the cat, the random
squirrel, and of course the birds —
they mattered as much as they ever do.

As if the suburbs were erased; as if lawns
fell aside due to plunder or neglect.
As if it all disappeared quietly, whimsically.
There is nothing left here but me

as if I mattered that much, as if my arrogance
caused it all to decay and vanish, all except
for me. I am here to recall it all,
I guess. As if

my memory matters, at least as long
as I live. When I go, will it all come back?
I won’t be here, you know. Maybe it never left
as all and, as if

I am fooling myself into a conviction
that I am as critical as a squirrel to
the fashioning of this, maybe it turns back
to itself once I’m gone. As if

I had never existed, as if
I was a momentary blip
in a time click — a grain of salt,
giving barely a bit of flavor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T