No time

As I contemplate the flying capacity
of an insect not much larger than a dot
settling between Gizzi's lines A day mulchesXXXXX.
according to gravity / and the sow bug marches

a man at the river is making stones jump
on the water a woman walks singing along
the path a child cries out that he's bleeding
and I read And everything better than

the present is gone then blow at the insect
hoping it flies off and that it will not
as a redyellow smudge in no time
end in the tightly shut book