No Hurry by Michael Blumenthal

—For C.K. Williams

This morning waiting for the paint on the fence to dry
I realized there was no hurry, no hurry waiting
for the bus to come no hurry for the sun to set
or the moon to rise no hurry, even, to arrive at orgasm,
your own or anyone else's. There was no hurry,
certainly, for the protoplasm of decline to make its way
homewards, no hurry on the divorce decree no hurry
for the new marriage certificate no hurry for the blossoms
on the butterfly bush outside this window to bloom
or the apples to fall no hurry for the ant just now making
its way across this room to get to the other side, though
thousands of its little brethren are impatiently waiting.
There was no hurry, I realized, for these very fingers
to make their way over the keys no hurry for the brave
little homunculus of the day to reach afternoon no hurry
for the wrinkles around my eyes to widen no hurry
for impotence bladder problems mutating cancer cells
no hurry, darling, for anything to become or not become
of us no hurry for the plane to depart no hurry no hurry
no hurry since, sooner or later, everything will arrive
at breath's finish line and we will all be winners,
and all will be still, and everything we had always
been hurrying towards will finally be ours.