I turned off the clock

tears must have their due

not rushed by paltry measure

nor forced by othered rule

grief has always hit me late

gone underground then emerged

it feels the core of me

hidden, silent, generative

sorrow and joy mirrored alike

the very dance of time

two boys walk hand-in-hand to a room

a pigeon on the sidewalk dies

street corner habitues change guard

the coffee kiosk closes its window

minutiae we’ve gathered shut behind the doors of the day

left scattered across our life in untidy clumps

these illusory except for the return

again and again and again

at the end of the day the day comes to an end

streets silenced and cleaned

detritus disappeared

storefronts gated and chained

this hushed new scape ominous

as a post-apocalyptic scene

pigeons and crows gathered

in their respective flocks and murders

to reconnoiter empty sidewalks

and discuss missing garbage bins

humans disregarded altogether

except as a means to an end