My left wrist wears stone slick
chrome. A watch I brought myself last July.
With a cocked head and quiet
breathing you can make out
the indomitable sweep
of the slender hand, a tiny crocodile
continuously circling.
It’s been weeks, but still
I leave it wound to the wind chill,
the winter.
I’ll be catching a train or rushing
to a meeting when I consult the polished face,
it is seventeen hours ago—
Minneapolis,
you’re with me all the time.
