Slow-Motion Sleeping

Had I known, I would have said no
to this slow-motion sleeping, 
but here I am, running backwards and
trying to touch my toes and tie
my shoes and tag you back all night.

Here, I am still so busy
finding work for these hands to do: I am
unmaking this mess of mama’s necklace knots, I am 
catching rain and losing none, I am 
folding fitted sheets into squares with right angles, I am
not still, and I am not, and I am still so sorry.

For now, please hold and hug 
and memorize this long body for me,
I never found a way to love her like you did,
I was too busy disproving gravity
and god and getting good at everything else--
crying into swimming pools and 
saying yes with a no-shaped mouth. 

Had I known, I would have said yes
to reincarnation, sighing and slipping 
into new and now to be with you again,
but even without a body, there I am:
in the shadows of that Goya painting and in 
the cold spot on the wall behind it; I am 
the space on your favorite shirt where the button’s missing, 
and I am the missing button, too.

And if ever there are only
shadowless paintings and unbroken shirts, look here
for a reminder of who I am and was--
my mind is the small dot hovering just above this i, 
my body is the comma in this sentence.