Time is a dandelion sprouting up between jagged cracks in the sidewalk
It is a child ripping that dandelion from the ground
Time is standing at a truck stop between here and nowhere at midnight
It is the empty dark and the smell of gasoline
Time is fingers playing a black grand piano effortlessly
It is the splintering of the piano string
Time is a fluorescent, sterile doctor's office after a collapse
It is the "I'm so sorry"
Time is the green tiled bathroom with the broken shower curtain
It is the positive and it needs to be the negative
But time is not the ticking of the clock
But it is the sound that softly ricochets off the walls as you lie awake