It's my last hope.
The sun in its afternoon swirl. It's up there. Far,
far and I still feel that
There's always hope.
It's fresh fruit meeting the tongue. It's playing
King of the Mountain.
It's the budding smell of spring flora.
It grows on trees.*
We pluck it, make it purchasable.
"Timepiece" is a poem from Jana Prikryl's 2016 collection "The After Party."
— The End —