A new century waits as the minutes
progress
into hours of vestibular begotten memory

My thoughts being counted although I
resist,
my feelings in service to what’s left behind

The sun and the moon trade in bartered
romance,
each jilting the other as day turns to night

Another year is recorded in the serpentine
past,
what’s seen a mirage—what’s measured retained

(The New Room: March, 2021)