There is a ticking underneath
everything— by which I mean

not only the dark pulling
at the edges, but also the light

reflecting off the surface.
Sometimes I tell myself

it’s only a crow in the yard,
savaging the last fruit

that clung past summer—
Other times I watch small

dark serifs travel across the sky
and wonder how a body can know

when it’s time to fold itself
into the long, hard distance.


In response to Via Negativa: Reference point.

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