It's Still Life

Where Do the Hours Go

It’s just past 4pm,
and the sun is going down,
but for now it’s caught

on crisses and crosses
of aeroplane contrails.
Those tic-tac-toe kisses,

each trace an hour passing,
rose-hued and translucent,
and glued to the sky.

Poetic Asides Day 10: Go Somewhere