Two Benches

Two benches. I never imagined this. Outside a blank, white room, with its blank, white walls. Inside, the clock unwinds; seconds drip steadily down the line, waiting for Nature to call Time. On a cold metallic bench I wait, suspended; Stop-motion faces speed by; nothing changes, but nothing is the same. Streaming in, glassy light is prismed through the pane; the sky bright and empty; seagulls scream silently; white ornamental frieze, framed against the blue. And later, on a broken bench in the bay, I watch the white-topped waves constantly returning home; still in the blank, white room; still seeing your blank, wide stare.