Relax

The hustle builds inside you, gathers steam, roils around and pushes you forward, ever forward, ever counting the minutes left in your pockets and how you best can spend them. Summer is sticky again, but the evenings are dark now and you know it will end one day. She writes you from the north and says does it all start again now? and you know how after school season itches like a mosquito bite at your edges. You land exhausted on your bed, night after night and the alarm so early but the earlier you rise the more minutes in your pocket. The stars prepare to align, the moon fills like a lung, the light along the Bowery tonight was magic and there is never so much storm on my calendar that I cannot stop
for a second
to see it.