In the seconds that tumble us
we pose to this hourglass, a figure
combined of two humans and all our skins
molded to a doubling of curves and sands falling
and the shadows skim over the sundial
but I am still thinking of us that way,
entwined and smooth as fresh glass,
or water in the morning before wind reaches it.
Running on your breath and a last request
stars falling from my mouth and turning to words
golden after long seaside hours
spent shaping on the fore shores of my thoughts,
I am seconds and minutes amounting to too late
because I could not stop the showering sand
from falling between us and shifting an ocean.
In the seconds where I am tumbled
to toss in dreams the colour of time
I try to compensate and become my own hourglass,
long curves of implacable elegance
some sort of evidence that I can exist singly
among my own collection of sands and stars
sinking through glass fingers to my feet
and turn. and turn...