Time, I have hung you in the quiet hallways
as a lantern, prying open your luminous mouth

And you shuddered when I read to you
the unaltered gypsy times

my history is a question of fire towards
your pale, criminal birth,
you are apparent mostly in the roar of cemeteries

not even life could tell apart.

Though you appear as Infinity
in a frozen gallery of sunsets, I am

moved only by your quiet collapsing breath
on the leveling sands that become

too quickly a giant house of watches
investing gray daggers wildly in the dawn

and every so often your powerful hands
caress death with the fragility of a rose

sewing grave pictures onto the land of your ruling.

SCR10- Time copy

Out of the Night Death Watch