Saturated and edged out

by limiting myself

to the wandering clock

and hands not seen


that’s where time lives

on the edge of all things

like the sandy shore

in a verse I can’t find


taking my time away

is not time’s way

because seconds alone

find us alone together

and then time is freed


but mostly,

I am alone

very alone

like a sparrow on rooftop


where time goes

I don’t know how

but it’s hands are there

clenched and sweaty

like writhing blogs


I am writing

for a chance that life is

not for seconds to turn

to turn to minutes or hours


and days, I don’t care

about 24 hours

there is no end

that seems comfortable


and that should be funny.