Tuesday, August 18, 2020

The battery in the old clock next to my desk
is not quite strong enough to push the second hand
all the way through the thirty-fourth second of the 
wrong minute of the wrong hour. And yet it does 
keep tick-tick-ticking all the same, counting nothing. 

The thin black grid of the window screen boxes up 
the greens and browns of two treetops, their uneven 
branches reaching into each other, out and up,
and the wispy white cloud that slowly slides eastward
through soft blue skies, pixelating the gradient.

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love notes
a ritual to start the work week