The Space of a Breath

Ignoring the seasons,

the rotation of this earthly body

Where does the time go?

Through the holes worn in your shoes or

dried up when you don’t have the patience to pause

Pull the hands off your watch

like wings off a fly.

Now if you’re not busy time will stay on the ground;

through your stained-glass windows the day slows down

The anger that was on blast

has shut up,

and the deadpan stare

just a mask.

What’s been empty is now a fuller cup,

it might only be 5 seconds

but it felt good not to care.