Late sunlight climbs up inside the crevices

and exposes. Wait.

A moment of ___________.  Linger

and stay

somewhere someone may be listening.



For something to happen, to will oneself astray.

All those sideways streets and glances.


Where do they go?  All those hours

of thinking about the hours


taking from us, where do they vanish—

skywards?  Recycled in dreams

no one understands

or wants to wake from?


Pieces we have to reassemble, sew up the wounds,

our skirts, our lost borders, boundaries, if you prefer.


But, what shall we do tomorrow?


How have you forgotten?


Ah, yes, the Sea. The waves that crash back and take back everything.

Yes, even us.


We should peel back all the layers that will come undone


And sing them, paragraphs, un-shattered again, melodious,

whole-heartedly stolen, re-appended.

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2 Responses to THE HOURS

  1. Myke Todd says:

    Your ability to transition is incredible.

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