A Clock Ticks Without Mercy at 3AM

A Clock Ticks Without Mercy at 3 AM

My mind’s a nest I weave

with bits of debris from everyone’s life.

Worry, my rapturous companion:

When will the drought end,

bless the bony sidewalks,

find the parched arches?

My grandchildren sent out

without their coats, and bedtime

is bedtime plus an hour.

My left ventricle is shrinking,

must face a full winter, pump

harder under my breast bone.

My heart beats over my lover’s breathing.

I could live like this for years:

pump wonder pump wonder pump wonder.

Published in By & By Poetry 2015