It's Still Life

Note: This hasn’t gone at all where I wanted it to, so I might take it apart and play with its innards later.
 

Counting Numbers

To melt. To melt. Into this stress. Into my ears, sticky-thick. Hear that beat. That struck tick. That clock. Free my bruised breath. Count. On one. I step. On two I step. Three and. Step by step, down and down. Into empty. Into hollow. Cool and dark as a clutch of night. Down and … Step by step until that beat becomes a chime, a chink, like steel, feel its cool, its braeside breeze. Linger. Longer. Inhale. Inhale. And … Smell the heathered hills, two and three and four, and then climb, on one. I step. On two. I step. Three and. Step on step into its pull. Through its thick, into its tick. That clock. A breath. A beat I hear clear as my finger touches just to feel. Counting, counting, into a ribbon flat. Counting numbers as they melt.

I stepped aside into my
own absence, counting
those moments as I breathe.

written for dVerse Poets, Haibun Monday.