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