Time again, each morning when we wake – and place too – us, then me, you – separate
sides for swinging out our legs, a day taking place (we say, though meaning
taking time) as approach succeeded by withdrawal, as if the highlight were
exactly that, our lives meridian-centric, a countdown
to a moment – the gunfight in the western street, the church
bell, the firehouse whistle – and then a count away from it.
lunchers
in the clock-tower shade
eyeing their wrists
by Charles Hansmann
Sea Cliff, New York
first published, in an earlier version, in Lynx XXII: 3, October 2007
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