Every Hour

The fading light of tired days
shadows across the bar

the weight of its settle
lightened by the wait for

someone else who finds
life in random words

put together.

The calendar tells us when
to turn the clock back

an extra hour of sleep comes
and frost returns in light that

sets off a mindless pattern
forgotten by the solstice’s

absence of day time.

The quiet of leaf-less trees
tornado through my ear

listening for the soft tread
of a welcomed footstep

that has not fallen in line
with standard time

nor me.

Where I found life in dusk’s
half-light before

I find that human nature
does not follow Time’s

ability to return to the same
point every year, every day,

every hour.

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