Your apathy is unsettling.
We relinquish our gifts
But keep the wee morning hours full of song.
The seamstress awakens clothed in forever chanting clocks.
"Regret with me," the time and space we chose.
Everything is angry here.
Among the glow, the lure of her effervescent tower
The boy stands, he calls
But she's encased in rags and braids
Forever long hair falls
Her motions are closed and muted as he climbs
Bent against the danger; she is held inside.