coloring white roses
the start of an era,
or the end of one?
or perhaps we shouldn't count time
after all, it is infinite and we are not
the *tock* of a grandfather clock
as another granule makes the plunge
are you afraid
of the unlit seaglass that will fall
when death is fated to coil 'round your neck?
the moment when your eyelashes
kisses the weary bags under your eyes
never to part for your soul again?
i have always been slow
but even i, who barely knows myself, knows
that even when 2021 comes
we will be reluctant to let 2020 go
fisting thorns in our palms
coloring white roses red
because isn't time always more romantic
in hindsight, staring up in one's bed?
1 comments
THAT LAST LINE OH MY GOSH
ReplyDeleteIjustlovethissomuch,andthatthoselastfewlinesareASTOUNDING