On Rest

let me tell you the secrets of my day,

the whispers of warmth
who greeted me in the morning,
who returned only when
the night
had swallowed the sun.

in the

spaces
left
between

them,

my day

lay,

and stretched her
cat-like self
across every
hour, minute, and second,
grazing on the clock-hands
I fed her.

quietly,
when no-one was
listening,

I stole them,

to end that
incessant
t i c k
t i c k
t i c k i n g,

so that instead,
my ears may
feast
on the way
silence
tip-toes around
my day,

and only makes herself known,
when you call for her,
yourself.

at last,
we did find her,
curled into a
full-stop-sunset,
retired,
at the end
of

my day.

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