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)
Mar 13, 2021
Mar 13, 2021 at 12:06 PM UTC
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)
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