Fixed Point
under the lid
of eyes
the clouds go by
in the dark
and the grand old clock
ticks back tears
and drops them in the well
and the flowers float up
like a balloon
lifting laughter off the page
taking notes
for empty chapters
12 numbers on a round face
clockwise
and counterclockwise
time travels
through a portal
of trees
climbing up to the top
to see what it sees
and then scaling back
to touch
the ground
a grain of sand
before it falls
like a flake of snow
behind the cloud
running from the sun
it disappears
like rain
falling asleep in the sea
becoming more
or less
it rolls in waves
turning over sand
changing the shoreline
it reaches back
and springs forward
lifting and letting go
the new and the old
mapped in roman numerals
that can’t tell
time
but rather feeling
it felt
the mortal moment
of a single second
that counts
what cannot be counted
subtracted or divided
it adds up
the sum of all things
made known
to the unknown
TL