……over the edge

 

there are times

that come and go

that stain us,

       blanche us,

       cheer us too,

beyond these hours

is the residue

of minutes between

and the seconds that flow.

 

how in the mire

of this regularity

    this ticking,

          trudging,

          tracking of infinity,

can love be so arresting

that time stops so completely

in an endless scene

interlocked with eternity?

dwk