Yesterday hid behind the dense
switchgrass
on the look out for us
to light candles of thought,
so it may remind us

of scent, quiet but lingering,
of a fragrance, infused beneath memories’ skin
and ferry us back in time.
seeking forgiveness,
seeking that we might forget,
on the eyes of restlessness an obol shall rest
and leave what was as dead,
as if a rash, cooled to no longer rage,
to no longer itch.

Yet, we can’t forget.
Unbidden, yesterday returns as spring
but with a hint of winter
and the frailty of things.

Do must we,
But break clocks
And wish gears lost,
In the end we are found
On the road where we
left our ghosts.

Three
chests heave-
in the dark,
Breathing throughout
Each exhale.
The soundscape
adopts
a sleepers tone;
As
the clock's
      Tick tock,
Counting each second;
Becomes infinite-
The midnight's
metronome
Insues...

When do we begin dreading birthdays?
When does the count down to the new year begin to sound like the tick tick tick of a time bomb?
When do days become hours
hours become minutes
minutes become seconds?
When do we finally stop and realize that we’ve lived seven years longer than our best friends?

Time is a fickle mistress

She moves so slowly when you’re young
When you want nothing more than for her to rush up and greet you
Then
in a blink
She’s gone before you can even utter a “Hello.”

But how are we to appreciate something we cannot feel?
How are we to gasp at the presence of something we cannot see?
How are we to sing a beautiful melody we cannot hear?

I wanted to see you today.
Catch up like we always do, but don’t do enough.
But Time, I guess, had other plans.

Assignments were filling up my inbox, papers just couldn’t be ignored any longer, and I was tired from not sleeping well the night before and my cat had to choose today to knock over the T.V., shattering the screen, and my mother called, you know how she can just drone on and on, and then I had to stare at my fridge for at least twenty minutes before deciding the chips in the pantry will curb my hunger fine, then this emergency at work and this thing with my sister…

Then
before you know it
it’s two in the morning
and I need to go to bed.

But those are all just excuses, aren’t they?
A bunch of moments to distract from the guilt from not seeing you.

You see, Time is a man-made creation
not some external force of nature.
Sure, the sun and moon glide across the sky,
but the meaning of that was assigned by us.
The day doesn’t begin when we open our eyes
there are plenty of cheap coffee mugs that say otherwise
So it doesn’t have to end when the light in the sky dies

Time is not a fickle mistress.

She’s in the gray hairs that grow with our wisdom,
In the wrinkles that are carved from our laughter
In the aches in our bones from dancing just a little bit too long

We are time.

And I’m sorry
I’m sorry for not making Time for you.

You, to me, run like clockwork.
Which is to say:

In sections , your insides spin at insidious speeds, whirring a blur of gold silver copper gold silver copper-
In others, they crawl, wrestling, pushing, heaving, scraping and screeching.
A cacophony of cogs, the crashes spark thoughts.
Thoughts that think of everything,
Thoughts that think your mate can sing
Thoughts you thunk when you where drunk,
Thoughts you think you thought you’d thunk,
Thoughts that form into ideas,
Thoughts that show eternal fears.
Thoughts you thought you thought you’d thunk,
Thoughts you think you thought you’d thought but nought comes to mind about the thought you thought you’d thought about thinking the thought you’d thunk,
Thunk, Thunk , Clunk.

These lighting shards that shatter and glow,
They seem to know which way to go.
Conjoin with fractured other parts,
To hold together another heart.

But all they see, is a calm face.
That subtly shifts from day to night.
So unaware of any fright.
Tick, tick, tock.

You are the all encompassing
Incomprehensible complex
A never ending clockwork
Spinning deeper and deeper
Swirling deeper, deeper
Twirling, deeper, deeper, deeper

Dirt and diamond and daisies and you,
Contain all in life i know to be true.
Clockwork you.

I can't find the energy to care about you anymore.
Or your new girlfriend,
or your car, passing me on the way to the city
at 9 pm, always showing up wherever I least want you.
I saw her wearing your shirt the other day.
I can't find the energy to care about you anymore.

Between silken sheets we let all of the golden clocks fall over the edge of our world.
There, we kissed and kissed until we could measure time only by the rise and fall of our broken breaths and knew no other taste
than the light in each others bones.