Illustration by Sheri Kim

you feel it when the years start to pile on

your shoulders—that we weren’t meant to live

by time. to measure things

by our tiny bodies. to number stars

by our tiny gods. you feel it as you cut

hours

           into halves

                               into quarters

                                                       into frantic seconds

and again as you stretch these seconds out into

nothing.

you know that to keep time is to care for it

to hold it in yourself and hide it from strangers

as you find yourself turning over

the same acts, the same scenes

in your foggy hourglass mind:

here is the rhapsody (in cobalt blue),

and here are our faces framed in regret.

what is the sun but the minute hand

on the universe’s undisputed clock?

watch the time.

watch the features on its dark face twist in malice,

watch its hands spinning out lines of years while

I lie here still and

suspended

drowning in hungry amber

as you stride ever forward

in search of lost time