Where we rest our heads

Our hands touch

where the angles meet

to make a wall

The Sun sits upon the window sill

a guest most welcome

on a meandering afternoon

Sipping from mason jars

found at the market

Resting between moments

to appreciate the rhythm

as we hurtle through space

in an orderly fashion

I remember when people

Had clocks in their homes

next to dusty trinkets

from

days that have come and gone

How many hands does it take

to make up all the hours in a day

Never enough it seems

I can hear laughter in the hallway

A passing reminder

that none of us

Are truly alone