Notes About The Poem

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UNWRITTEN HOURS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The clock hand breaks, suspended mid-swing~
a fracture in the air where yesterday
still hums, untouched. You reach, and the moment
folds like origami, a crane of might-have-beens.
Your father’s laugh echoes ahead of you,
already gone. The future is a room
with all its doors ajar. You step through
and find your shadow waiting, older,
holding a ticket back. The present
is the only place you’re never allowed to stay.
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