Time is the leaning tower.
A word—from falling out of a conversation to
history discovering that word’s discarded shell
against a failed friendship/the silence of death
in the deafening bravado and thunder of war.
Time is stretched and released/stretched and released.
Hand between atoms. Hair sliding into the valleys of a pillow.
Costumes and masks. Purpose for clouds/horizon.
Sidewalks in cities when summer is the only gravity
that exists between sunset and sunrise. The sound
of emotion snagged on window-sills and fridge doors.
Time is the vanishing point where roads
and railway tracks become mystery/situation
between two non-existent/incomprehensible points.