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.
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