chandler collins: first-year

i was told i’d yearn
for the purple shadows
melting onto the lawn

i was told that four years
would go by in four minutes
unless i hold on

clutching the reigns of time
dragged along at its heels
i yelp to slow down – unanswered

as i sit under the elms
bathed in moonlit grey
i’m silenced

four is not enough
each little infinity
a piecemeal heaven

“oh thomas, please let me stay here”
we beg to Your many shrines
and to Your geometric altar of brick

Your greatest legacy –
a rectangle of grass –
penned in by america’s future

You respond;
in the eye of the hurricane
the silence is deafening