Time on my hands

May 09 1956 12:15 a.m.

His time.
His words, hanging in the air.
Page turned.
Book closed.
World moved on.

In the waiting room,
the red second hand
scythes smoothly through his days,
while his thoughts,
pregnant as the luggage rack,
contemplate a million journeys:
departure, stops and destination,
battered baggage stuffed with hope,
faded labels, half-forgotten places.
A waiting room of cases swapping stories
until the page is turned,
luggage loaded,
time spent.

His days came and went,
as will mine.
For now, I wait and watch
departure boards count the hours.
Filling time, turning pages,
knowing that the book
must one day close,
the world move on.

Breath condenses in the air
and holds my thoughts.

February 06 2012 08:56 a.m.
St Petersburg.