Still, flat hands
tick time away,
filling up boxes,
making empty space.
I don't know this form
or who it is for,
only to still, stay,
and wait and to count-
the passing clouds,
each passing hope,
hope for time, hope none is waste
hope whatever it is was worth the wait-
but then there is more time
and there is more space.
It's a long time to sit and still
see only one still flat, clock face.