jueves, 1 de febrero de 2018
My Clock
Time zones change,
as does the smell of each homes' dust,
days become wet,
and hours dry-
yet between each traveling minute, there you are,
waiting in the peace
of you subtle smile,
sweeping my land and arguing with my life,
its way of passing time,
without preamble or alignment,
without clocks to measure;
so shine the sun and the rain and
each season without name,
to always find you
in the complex simplicity
of a new dawn,
pulling the reins
of each morning,
and you,
like the astute watch-hand
come hugging my seconds,
and contemplate their effervescent worlds.
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