Not even if is a wildfire in close enough range.

Not even the present is within breath.

For years the answers came, the same

answer, or not the same at all,

spotted in a different tongue, then none at all.

The soft filling of the future tense

that would not fit into a grid, one I could name.

And right in the midpoint of what I thought was mid-

life, a new character padded onto the page.

Who traveled from the long after.

Leaking the afterlife.

And all that year, I couldn’t read, knowing language

could be directional, drawing close. Moving away.

But the character was recurring, then the main figure.

His mouth loaded, the bababa.

Between his diaphragm and hard palate:

phonic vibration and smear.

Strained visage behind my 37th year.

And how did we get here—you and I, I mean.

My child whose modifiers I tend and prune on the screen.

You were a no and then one

of ten thousand things arising in the mind’s snow.

Stay, you bid me, stay.

And from that point on there was no question laid

and there I was, now dragged by

the endless itching

of the clock’s hands, around and around

the now, now, now.

Was there ever a chase?

It’s getting late.

I shiver, touching you

here on the page.

This poem appears in the June 2026 print edition.

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Moving away.\n\nBut the character was recurring, then the main figure.\n\nHis mouth loaded, the _bababa_.\n\nBetween his diaphragm and hard palate:\n\nphonic vibration and smear.\n\nStrained visage behind my 37th year.\n\nAnd how did we get here—you and I, I mean.\n\nMy child whose modifiers I tend and prune on the screen.\n\nYou were a no and then one\n\nof ten thousand things arising in the mind’s snow.\n\n_Stay_, you bid me, _stay_.\n\nAnd from that point on there was no question laid\n\nand there I was, now dragged by\n\nthe endless itching\n\nof the clock’s hands, around and around\n\nthe now, now, now.\n\nWas there ever a chase?\n\nIt’s getting late.\n\nI shiver, touching you\n\nhere on the page.\n\nThis poem appears in the [June 2026](https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/toc/2026/06/) print edition.","freeMarkdown","kind1EventId","kind30023EventId","f92bb1946c6ea7067afecb3e782a4d372d512ed6ddfb1b111b50d384ceb43dc0","kind30023",{"_27":360,"_336":363,"_134":364,"_80":365,"_350":349,"_253":379,"_352":380},"e1f97bca7b8f2b78f5d168993b6632ece32c03de635580d69c1ab8f34af0479e29218fc8db7e4130004bc4128cd9da014ed5672b533a5fff3968026da883cf20",30023,[366,369,370,373,374,376,377,378],[367,368],"r","https://news.layer3.press/articles/c7e0ccf0-9caf-4e6c-babe-78a94445b9e5",[40,239],[371,372],"published_at","1778428800",[44,246],[375,234],"d",[275,240],[346,347],[137,349,39],"Ten Thousand Things Arising\nThe author recounts a period of searching for answers and an inability to read, feeling disconnected from the present and future. The arrival of their child, initially a concept, became a central figure, profoundly changing the author's perspective on time and drawing them into the immediacy of 'now'. This new reality, centered around the child's presence, felt like an inevitable and inescapable shift.\n - The author describes a period of not being able to read or find answers.\n - A new character, representing the author's child, appeared unexpectedly.\n - The child's arrival shifted the author's perception of time, focusing on the present.\n - The author feels drawn into the constant experience of 'now' because of the child.\n",1778428800,"publishedToNostr","htmlContentKind30023","