Within a week dust fell Upon the shoulders of A timepiece. An enormous shell. An empty show box. My well-worn rag is green And pushed against fine things – And table legs. Hallway rails. Vacant chair arms. In the hallway -step-step Then skip my hearts beat. Ragged door. Behind its wall No voice of reason. Within these weeks dust fell Upon each mountain object. Wipe the clock. Turn and place My fingers round the doorknob. The old rag fallen carelessly, sleeps. Beat Beat -this life pumps – The door cracked – My life’s unreason Stands waiting.