time as a slinky
coils and layers atop another
the climb neverending

it did not begin
it will not end
it will continue its descent
down the haphazard
flight of stairs
it was pushed to
walk itself down

does it tangle,
i wonder?
curled over
so that the lines,
the paths of time,
cross so effortlessly
that whoever must detangle them
may not even bother

leaving time in echoes of itself
intersecting in strange,
residual ways
that we
will never
understand.