A clock with no hands six is nine and thirteen chimes faces in places and silent voices feet moving backwards eyes stare ahead the past Is gazing at us for we were there once maybe more - like staccato dots etherised in our senses we edge into reality like waves that wash away footprints for this is ours alone to dream to sail to fly and to hold with feet of wings from discarded feathers that once spanned the skies searching for love for it is hidden amongst the rainy clouds and the deserts that plague our imagination, the fire of which burns it away to make the past our present and the dreams our Forever.