The pattern of the clocks
...each tick cuts through empty thoughts.
Blood pumps through little veins
That lay neatly upon solid bone.
Hours at a time
Steal consciousness, as they often do
the blank wall
the vacuum of space
the column of air
between it and I
Digests the day, knows it all
through meditation,
the mind's blank concentration.
The sound of the clock
how synchronized it is, with active anatomy
though stationed in one position,
the columns of emptiness
are actually fuller than one might know.