Dark Clocks
       

This loneliness is obviously misplaced,
pure as a body saddled with sentience.

Its static is pre-arranged. Its breath, foggy.
It stalks the way light engulfs an unlit spot.

I wait for it to lose its steam, to catch its
reflection on the mirror by the bathroom sink.

I am sure it will be surprised by its stillness.
I am sure it is wondering where that dull ache lives.

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Copyright © 2016 Kristine Ong Muslim All rights reserved
from A Roomful of Machines
ELJ Publications
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission