the moon rises
the night passes
each tick of the clock
slips past
before i can catch it
some day
we all say goodbye
to everyone we love
but as long as i’m here
on my back
paying attention
i can bring the whole
rollicking clockwork to a
stop –
frozen, preserved
like a butterfly mounted
to a card of cork
iridescent wings
on display
under a bright cone of
circling the darkness
pinned against