The Everything That Isn't

It is what it is.
Oh no, it is not.
It is what is not.

It is not what it is.
It is not what it was.
It won't be what it is.

It is nothing.
It is naught.
It is naughty.

It is knotty.
It is nothing.
It is knotted.

Stop telling it
what it is to discover
what it is, is not.

---

So we set out our plans
as we sit in the sun
out behind everything

we have to leave behind,
and we discuss travel,
parenting, and packing,

and we soak up the light,
we who don't sleep at night,
and we love each other,

renew our promises,
consider our options,
reconsider our plans,

and a raven chortles
in a cutting black glide
between us and the sun,

and a weird bumblebee
we've never seen before,
striped with blue not yellow,

bombards desert flowers
offering brave nosegays
to that which will wilt them,

and we revise our plans
as if our plans were ours
to propose and dispose,

and then our baby cries,
and we go back inside,
under that brief, black glide.