i stole this purse from the goodwill
on main by accident.
do you see how it dangles from my
helpless arm? the rearview mirror
shows me that i have so many lines
on my face now that didn't used to be there.
i place it on the steering wheel of my
vehicle
and watch all the people
drive away in the parking lot after work.

the water droplets form.

i think they watch me while i watch
them with some kind of
conviction.
i want to reach out and touch the invisible clock
that holds us all together.
i know it’s jagged and flowing
and it ticks and ticks and
ticks.

we can feel it bend like a web in the wind.

i wonder if they ever worry about these things like i do.

if grains of sand pass through
a glass tube
for an unpredictable amount of time,
i no longer want to invoke
a feeling you cannot replace
with the keys of a car or piano.
so i sing myself to sleep at night,

“time is a web, it catches us all.”