Glitch II

By David Smith

A lunar hand casts time: analog

The ebb, flowing of waves

The abyss soon gains shape;

Staccatos sunder time

Oh— the splinters

Rhythm of time,

Symphony of sound

Even the trees breathe in measure

Pull me close, to collision with comfort

Then ground me with syncopation

Ticks of time draw me back

Clock and pendulum oscillate

Drunk on space, of sea and sound

I wish to collapse once more

Take me to the edge of delusion

Where train of thought rendezvous

But no— the home of stars

I could never fill with shards

I am grounded by the ticking,

Numinous in You

I occupy the land between time and space

Dancing with creation in metaxis—

I am nothing in the expanse