is it the ticking of the third hand
or the faucet dripping onto discount bulk blueberries
both measuring time
“going in circles”
as he would say
these days
when favoritisim has no force
but neither do flashing lights or this perfect view
chasing in circles and triangular dimensions
sprinklers soaking stone instead of lawn
the three of us meet in the driveway
behind the impeccably parked mini suv
masks muffling sobs
tears splattering plastic
embracing in circles
i don’t even know
how long it’s been. haven’t been counting days haven’t counted backwards on the calendar. haven’t bothered to reread my own words. haven’t been missing you