In time, I am sheared to shards.
One foot in tomorrow and one remembers.
One eye on the ground and one wanders.
I have been mixed thoroughly and schmeared out
Over time, listening to you helps me.
The snap of your fingers.
The click of your shoes on pavement.
The weight of your winter breath.
You slip rhythm with personality
and entwine in a natural, miraculous manner
with this world of many instruments.
All clocks are musical.
I can locate the moving present by ear.