Sometimes I imagine now, as “used to have been”, to
decide what I would miss most
I am currently reminiscing the buzz of carpenter bees
that seem to impossibly vibrate space
around lilikoi vines that choke
our rusted fence (the voice of its hinges like my children’s).
The dialogue of razor scooters and skateboard wheels in the street
and trucks that run on diesel songs,
--the ocean’s textured tongue pressing in the background--
All of it staying with us, a daily conversation in our living room.
I think, wouldn’t I miss this
mumbly breeze through our louvres that only close
when we’re gone
these silent panes of glass, shut, between outside and in
then (the future and past the same distance from me, here) and now
Would be final.