The Watch
by Michael R. Burch

Moonlight spills
down vacant sills,
illuminates an empty bed.

Dreams lie in crates.
One hand creates
wan silver circles, left unread

by its companion—unmoved now
by anything that lies ahead.

I watch the minutes
test the limits
of ornamental movement here,

where once another
hand would hover.
Each circuit—incomplete. So dear,

so precious, so precise, the touch
of hands that wait, yet ask so much.

Published by The Lyric, Carnelian, Net Poetry and Art Competition, Poetry on Demand, Famous Poets and Poems,  ImageNation (UK). Keywords/Tags: watch, hands, watching, time, movement, circles, cycles, circuits, minutes, limits, wait, waiting, death, incomplete, reunion, companion, ahead, night, bed, moonlight, crates

First snow, we watched,
Blueprints breaking apart.
A paradox talking loudly,
Over no one in particular.

Our house became haunted
by so many curses,
and none of them watched
the inches stack onto
piles of dead earth.

They were too busy deciding
which one could laugh
the longest without breathing.

One month from today was the delivery.
Everyone whispered into their hands.

Meanwhile, the blizzard exploded
inside the walls and left us
with all these bite marks,
exposing our circuits to the cold air.

Everyone picks themselves up and waits until tomorrow.