When the Hours 

Fall Silent

The hours flow through hands 

afraid to be swallowed.

The hours sift through fingers 

meant only for ground.

The hours flee  

for fear of being noticed.

The hours flow

like recalicitrant holy water.

The hours slip by

in ungovernable love.

The hours weep 

from the wound of ourselves.

The hours tumble 

both unsayable and said.

The hours fall away

in unfettered joy.

The hours topple down

in their hurry to depart.

The hours pour out

to avoid our embrace.

The hours weep 

the clear blood of starlight.

The hours spill our

memories turned into dust.

The hours flow 

like weather wrung from hands.

The hours drain 

our tears through a sieve.

The hours fall

silent in order to be heard.  

1/24/22