tiny wildflower pressed between the pages of a book
the time between now and never is governed by light
an interim, meticulously polished, with a stolen cloth
sun slivers off cloud, stars glint into infinity, hours in
hourglasses oblivious to the sand, or the hands of our
mothers disappearing, unaware of the rusted key, and
to build a fire does no good, as the drapes are opaque
solemn document, still damp ink, the tiny wildflower
pressed between the pages of a book, this is your day
the silver sphere, still visible, the shoes of our fathers
empty, their feet fading, disappear, in sky raining ash
hold up your spoon, watch for lightning, see it reflect
in the convex surface, there was no need to sign your
name, time will not come again, and the world we’ve
created will collapse, earth awaits you, share this key
Stephen Jackson