Over here the circle theme continues
Without a clock, uncountable
And unmarked despite a pouring sound,
Despite slight lesions in the rock.
A hand is waving, silently, from under
Cover of cloud we said was blanketing
The sky, and so, indeed, the sky is blank
But for a reverie of reach and touch;
The ancient, fingered dark.
The word I was trying to recall is fungible
But it doesn’t mean what I had thought
So now I need to trade it for
Another, one that means porous, means
Mutable, means a shadow can pass through
Unnoticed, means you turn and nothing
Before comes after, nothing takes hold.