There is a ticking underneath
everything— by which I mean
not only the dark pulling
at the edges, but also the light
reflecting off the surface.
Sometimes I tell myself
it’s only a crow in the yard,
savaging the last fruit
that clung past summer—
Other times I watch small
dark serifs travel across the sky
and wonder how a body can know
when it’s time to fold itself
into the long, hard distance.
In response to Via Negativa: Reference point.