I still recal a place of idle moments,
Where silence rests in cracks of
Settled redbrick walls and where
The marble grain and candle wax
Commit to mind an hour’s lapse
In veins of listless day’s decisions,
Where quilted dust is swept in
Tides beneath the pendulum’s
Assertions and the song between
A clock-tick borrows lyrics from a
Sundial’s overcast refrain.
I still remember fissures in the steps
Before I entered long cementented
To a theory of un-passing days, and
Yet the traffic always echoes
And the fractures always grow.