Monday to forget Sunday and Saturday. Tuesday to plan Wednesday. Thursday to remember Thursday. Friday.
In the bathroom I polish my mirror. Turning the hourglass wondering what I've lost.
"You've found nothing and so, you've lost nothing."
The voice of angel Death. Heard only when I lose consciousness under bath water. Rise again, search for God's scrutiny. Wipe my eyes, blot my nose. I fail to glimpse my siren.
Ah, a time to reflect. A collection to publish. A thought to be sharpened. No.