David Flynn

Two Seconds

I turn my back, and in that second

you flutter into a pile of flakes.

There an eye, there a fingertip.

Before I return, your second divides into millennia.

Flakes find each other and adhere,

at random, but do.

You smile, as if nothing had happened.

Then you blink, and in that dark line

I fly around the room,

orbit the Earth and back.

At the end of your second, I smile too.

This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Time limit is exhausted. Please reload the CAPTCHA.