Where time making sense is time wasted

Watching rivulets 
picking their way from top to bottom, 
like so many lives;

Thinking of Oedipus, 
yoked to his fate.

The dryer endlessly tumbles its contents; 
another load waits by the door.

No dentist’s drill of indignation; 

No bleakness of entitlement, 
resentment or spite;

For now, there’s space 
to gather thoughts.

A rivulet picks its way down the glass;

In the final moment, 
there’s music and weeping.