the lines of time
bleed onto paper
circling back and
forth and back
around to the same
blurry puddle
and they drip
drip
drip
to the floor
blue and gold
and black
holes and
smeared
galaxy
and grey time
slipping into
the ticking fingers
of an old grandfather
clock
and they fold
sometimes into
the bell tower
on the hour every hour
stamped onto
every wrist
glowing in every hand.
it's happening all
at once. you've
lived this second
infinity times before,
checking the time.
are you late?
are you early?
yes.