wrong number,
your cry for help
broke my twitch of sleep
beyond first squint of day
grogged by nighttime split
I attack the morning mess
borne by an edgy wind
miss a step,
foot folds in half
flings me to my knees
blood seeps through denim
I hear the echo of your plea,
fear you and I
in one single digit slip
will seesaw through time
forever tied
by that fiber optic thread
Steps Through Time, watercolor by Sue, 2006
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1 comment:
Why was I reminded of John Donne's Flea?
MARK but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is ;
It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.
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