maybe there will come a time
when clocks shave moments off the days
just for us
ice shavings off of seconds lost and tick tock tick tick
cemeteries full of wandering lilac vines.
Could it happen?
Anything for honest pastel graying eyes on grating lies that sink below the soil.
I’m not sure what my words mean always but
they’ll mean something to you
webs and wires strung thin across a dozen years we lost.
We will never get them back.
I still go searching, sometimes
I still feel the pounding.