The Remedy

He studied the catechism of measures
calibrated for persimmons or beets,
instruments polished until they gleamed like morning.

Where I tallied value, truth sank
or disappeared, the balance
proving lighter than a word.

I watch the scales tip
between his busy hands
and the future's mauve consequences.

Sounds and gestures accumulate
like ounces or the effects of winter
drifting through our middle years.

Beyond sunlight and gravity,
I can read the relative weight of breath,
sleep, smoke in the night sky.