Time Out

Where do you go
when you have nowhere to go:
TV turned off,
no face book, no cell phone ringing?

You say it's near,
this place where sometimes you go,
where time stands still
as in snow globes
with frilly snow drifting.

Is that the feel?
Where the hisses you hear are memories
sifting down like leaves,
eventually, to pile up.

How do you hear?
Since it’s not by your ears that you’re tracking,
those accidental basins for tears
…if, on your back, you’re lying.

Or is it forever you seek:
that current flowing in and through
everything that exists?

You hitch up, hang on, and go drifting
to return uplifted,
courageous, again, but unsure,
since what you’ve seen
and heard is precisely nothing.