coloring white roses

2021.

the start of an era

or the end of one?

or perhaps we shouldn't count time

after all, time is infinite and we are not

the *tock* of my grandfather clock

as another granule makes the plunge

are you afraid

of the unlit seaglass that will fall

when death is fated to coil 'round your neck?

that moment when your eyelashes

meet the bags under your eyes

for the last time?

i have always been slow

and even i who barely knows myself knows

that even when 2021 comes

we will be reluctant to let 2020 go

fisting thorns in our palms

coloring white roses red

because isn't time always more romantic

in hindsight, staring up from your bed?