In between the seconds, the spaces,
the void, found within tick to far off tock,
we sat, we talked...
"Why is it that you keep coming back?"
I pause to examine the shuffle of silent thoughts:
"I hoped you could answer that"
Looking away I see the circular table
on it stands the hour glass, suspended grains
held motionless, their timeless fall arrested.
"I am your fear, your fascination, your fate, all
you have to do is wait, is that right?"
The dust motes echoed the yawning gap
as my mind fought to free the words:
"Sometimes the truth can follow the
the wrong path" I breathed,
with that the first tock struck.