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Stepping on stepping off

By Karen Wolf

--

on either side of the colon, where

numbers dictate. A cardinal feeds when

 

empty, predators far. Red

numerals slash

 

more sleep minutes across a bedroom

wall. Dawn roosters

 

while a jack rabbit forages

time but my clock boxes remnants

 

of my paired life: clothes, crucial

books, a double handled cleaver stops

 

at a box of journals that houses

expectations, cavernous

 

disappointments, views bathed in

turquoise light. Cathartic to

 

watch a fireplace flame consume

the years, one at a time. Dali’s

 

clock slides back

up the table. Sun

 

and stars, growling stomach, one iron

heavy eye lid, my

sundial.

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