one night, i counted the seconds
the ones i could hear from my broken wall-clock
each tick was one second, and i would tap my fingertips together to count
reaching to the hundreds

running to catch a moving train,
id lose my train of thought
and start again

each tick, every second
is the amount of time to dot a page with the tip of a pen
to stipple it with ellipses
for a quiet read

one night, i counted the silence
the ticking between the words
i counted the periods, the commas
every pause that collected thoughts
and i wondered with my jumbled mind
on what the amount of time in a person's life is spent on thinking before speaking
pondering on what to say
til the last second

i think it comes with the fear of stumbling over your words
to get tongue-tied and garbled
the fear of embarrassment as you pick your sentences up from the floor
not knowing what to use in an appropriate manner
yet time ticks by, each second dotting the space
as you race for a response against
looking like a fool and looking like a fool
one with words unsaid and one with the wrong thing spoken

one night, i counted the seconds
i counted the dots when i would type a reply
the three dots of contemplation
and the conversation ends.