Carlo Rovelli writes the difference
between the past & the future exists
only when there is heat. I like to watch
your body in the present. It makes me
know something about being here
inside this one, bowl of hips both
full & empty, a heat making tomorrow
possible for me, though watching you
& the dip of arm as bow against the violin
of the other appendage—also arm—there
is no sound but the heat slipping down
the body through breath. Is sound
a kind of heat? Sympathetic vibration
across energy that, when dense, is matter?
What is the matter, I want to ask? Do I
want to ask? As it’s apparent in your body,
at least in this moment, which isn’t the past
or future. Do you want to burn? I once did,
wanted to & also did, burning my way out
of memories into a future I didn’t know
was possible but longed for. Is longing a kind
of heat? Rovelli writes that “in every case
in which heat exchange does not occur…we see
that the future behave exactly like the past.”
When I push my hands against you, I’ll offer
what can burn. When I step back, will you ignite
me, please? I want to know what next is
possible, what is possibly next; I imagine
hearing some bell in an incendiary future
we can only seem to sound our way toward.