Going, Coming

“what cheating rogues we are
already married to time…” ~ D. Bonta

When it rains two days without cease
moats grow in the small plots
between our houses.

It takes time for the water to find
its way back beneath ground or
downhill through channels.

Even faraway thunder
fills a small space
in our hearing.

Some arrivals depart
as soon as they pull in.
Some burrow deeper, carving

a kind of niche.
The medicine cabinet hides
its small army of orange pill

containers. When I go through
rooms to clean, I look at the dates
to see which ones I can throw away.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Your cheatin' heart.

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