Ticking Away

Sitting at the second floor screened open apartment front window, darkened by the hot summer evening stagnant air, she sends out her staccato and long drag semaphore by the orange tip of the cigarette responding to the thoughts her breathing unconsciously tells, the depths of the truths she calls lies, as the lightening bugs answer them with their phosphorescent reply.

The quiet stereo sounds of Journey’s ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ weaving their arena rock anthem around her almost motionless silhouette. Is she waiting for the heat or heart to break the febrile solitude, to change from restless heat to peaceful sleep?

The longing and waiting are the shaking of the leaves as finally the long over heated day earth suspires its cooling breath into the moon fed atmosphere. No longer do the thoughts of want and desire matter, no longer does solitude mean alone.

The contents that these clothes packaging a human shape no more hold, that which needs to be held never again. The face faces the hands of time as they tick away the seconds, the wearing a way of water on lime stone to create a cavern that will be the resting place of the flesh and then weathered bones that are at present still a human soul’s home.