Friday, May 02, 2014


Where time was on my wrist
I find a small feed.
Less time, more minding.
Wind is blowing through my palm.
I awaken to a wren tapping
on the back of my hand.
All else is so much foam,
its false iridescence sinking
slowly into the warm waters.
I sight down my arm 
feeling the weather 
climb upon my shoulder.
The feed is like a tune that
holds everything growing.
Whether it be dark pressure
or something green unfolding
what is discrete is 
becoming what I know.
Only the faint outline of
a timepiece remains.


Kathleen said...

Does anybody really know what time it is...?

(Don't worry. A bird will eat that earworm for you.)

ron hardy said...

Her diamond watch had stopped cold dead....