AirBnB
To make a reservation
Is to throw a grappling hook
Into the future.
It presupposes
One will survive
The interim between
The city and the cabin
Where one will stay
Three summer days.
Clap of the screen door.
Smell of sap in sun.
One has no choice then
But to draw oneself
Through time
Like a swimmer crawling
Through the heavy green
Marble of the sea,
Turning one’s head
From time to
Time to sip at air.