The Present

I’ve lost all the minutes;
my hours stand still.

Tiny sweet face—
I am the broken one
at the top of the strand
of broken ones
linked together
by a common bond—
time escapes us.

It’s just as well.

There is no before, after,
soon, early, late.
No moments here then gone.
No remembrances, anticipations.
No moving hand to mark
the hours, days, seasons,

There is only now
and now
and now
for the broken ones.

Claire Juno, © 2021