sometimes the whirl

of time skips sideways

into the little crack between floorboards in the house you grew up in

where a penny got stuck

and the hole in the mortar between the bricks around the corner of that house

where you stuck the rolled-up note paper on which you had written

secrets for the future

and instead of time going step-step forward

it lurches to the side

dodging a punch from Glass Joe

whose eyes turned yellow

but you knew what was coming

you went back to find the note

but the house was gone

and so were the secrets