I face the clock from sunrise to sunset.
I watch the hand grow legs and run away.
It goes around and comes around again,
but it is never the same. Every day
the steps keep reminding me to forget
the poems that I lost staring at walls.
I’m switching between cycles and circles:
three new wings and a foot bound in shackles;
with the other I beg for miracles.
My spirit is free but my shadow falls.
I concentrate pain in a paragraph
and conceal protests in a photograph.
With this passion I cut the curse in half.
The hand watches so it is not enough.