movement

These,
our equilibrium days,
when stasis,
our beliefs' anesthesia reigns,
when hand in hand
we turn and face each others'
opposite ways,
the ticking of the clock
like beads inside an empty tin
beats codecs, then would metronomes 
suggest our heartbeats,
and our friction, warmth?

This gathering slide downward
is a movement, too.


© Jonathan Bohrn (2004)