Close the window, fill the glass Fold the shirt, turn off the flame Four small things, I say them fast Make a rhythm of their names Left hand reaches for the latch Right hand catches running cold Cotton balanced on my shoulder I can do them all before the count gets old Window, water, cotton, heat Four clean corners of the beat Start them all and let them run I can make four motions one I can make four motions one Keep them bright and keep them running If the rhythm catches once I can catch it with the next thing Hairline brakes don't slow me down They're just sparks beneath the sound Four small things, one moving hand I can hold the count together Glass in the sink, shirt on the chair Window open, flame still blue I came in here to—I was there— Which one was I halfway through? Water talks across the room Cotton catches at my wrist My hand closes on no handle I can name them, I can— I can make four motions—one Keep them bright and keep them—running If the rhythm catches once I can catch it with the next thing Hairline brakes don't slow me down They're just—underneath the sound Four small things, one moving hand I can hold the—I can hold— Count again: window, water Shirt and flame, then window— Water, cotton, close the— I can carry all four— All four are carrying me The room is louder from down here I know exactly what I meant I cannot make my body get there No crash, no clean stop Just the beat arriving late I am still inside the motion I can feel the hairline brakes
