/ /

You gave me a watch. It was like a gold sun
that slept in my pocket. And when I held it up
to my ear and listened, I could hear each second
sweeping me into the future with its thin hand.
The day after you left, I threw it into the river.
Now everywhere I go, I hear that ticking—
at home, at work, asleep. I spend my life under
the hands of that watch, in the empty spaces
between an hour and the shadow of an hour
where nothing ever happens except the sound,
the ticking that sweeps me downriver to the sea.