Ten minutes slip into twenty,
twenty twines its way into thirty,
and time melts from Dali’s canvas
and settles into the cracks between
the pine planks on the living room floor.
We wait, because there is nothing
else for us to do.
We try (unsuccessfully) to scoop
up some of the minutes, but they are
rendered useless, polluted by the lint,
dirt and dog hair gathered there.
Warmth rides down on sun’s rays
and slips in through the blinds,
finding one corner first,
then reaching out farther
until we lay helpless and exposed
in the light of mid-morning’s truth,
still seeking more minutes
since the ticking and tocking
has slowed to an unrecognizable
sound and the second hand jerks
in spasms, soon to move no more.
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Be always safe,
Karen