In shades of blue and grey they obey the language
of frail human bones, timid. It’s a moment of space and fate when the clock’s hand determines the receipt of an electronic message. The wind howls by his ear, but her ear closes.
He acknowledges what the universe
claims as loneliness: a body next to oneself without the concern, never the genuine breath or scrape of hands. Two bodies, still in time, become too much to ask for. Time becomes our blame for it slips without purpose from our fingers. It twirls in circles, pours down from
a rain drop that fell or is falling from our sky.
Our devices know about the falling of time.
Can time ever fall? With bent knees like prayer,
time kneels unto a metallic god. The god turns into an object controlled by wired poles. Excusemesir it cannot hear
your emotions, your eyes; it’s simpler its brain to interpret the letters on our screens,
no exchange asked for.
