Clocks

Strikes 8

Everyone dancing around arrival

When is it going to be here?

For water at 9

No stones to throw here

The rolling of pieces

Some finding serenity in standing

Ago to the next 10

A moment or a decade

For a feast or fast go

Reward is struck like a cord ringing in

Bells on bells

As if rounding the bases of diamond

Touching base

A victory lap

All dressed in hope

The welcoming of a fullness

The wallow of an empty

The continuation that’s beautifully in remembrance

The celebration of life

Pausing and yet not stopping

The compounding fuel

How her voice carries

Oh how sweet the rocks are to me

For I don’t make them tumble

And yet they can easily fall

Like the tumblers in his cup

Ice to go round and round

Yet most ice is shaped square

For cornerstone

The blocking can say color red

Some would say blue

I could say purple

Like a fox knows the frame and a wall

Roxy! Roxy! Roxy!

Words can be so tall

Where someone wants a picture

Yet the imagination must play

Turning tables for reasons shown later

Like one going in and one going out

Like one going out and one going in

Life or death is the topic?

Or just rooms?

Movement

Someone not meant to see me today won’t

Where it could be seen as a miss

Now they’ll miss me more

Luckily someone now can say they saw

Can’t capture that one

No changing this tide

I have to be where I have to be

You must go to where it is you must go

Where not in some play…

Yet the masks seem to be in manner