a sonnet about time
scrupulously partitioned: new time
iron on brass; they must and are never
tired nor bored, a long, rattling chime
metronome of חי, as well as death, her
hair falls for the same fifth of a second
it must happen to be, always veering
misses nothing, however deaf; beckons
you to come closer, you must, nearing
her your heart ticks easily, too quickly
she leans close and looks beside the real
she is as the moon, eyes that look sickly
miss nothing, however blind, they must feel
an exhausted voice balloons from her mind
speaks without language: “to know, please don’t try