The Archaeology of Time
by Oonah Joslin
I’d stepped outside
the day that time stood still.
A bee in the garden was
suspended mid-flight over
a forget-me-not its blue face
open to the deep sky.
I saw the moment freeze
the breeze break
the shudder of all things cease.
Time beneath our feet
above our heads
moves in us
through us.
No shadow moved across the day
and no leaf stirred.
The blackbird’s beak
swallowed its sound
and all around I saw
the bones of time
evidence its archaeology.
Time resides in mystery
tesseracts, fractals,
twists like a Möbius strip
where red ants crawl
in lemniscate.
Sound’s silenced
light stretched
the smell of death and taste
of long deleted stars.
Gyroscope Review 37
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