Time falls while she sits in her chair,
an old-school web and aluminum fold out
older than silent cell phones but not nearly
as old as the rotating moon that captures her
gaze, night after night, its phases passing
before her eyes, earth’s shadow growing
& shrinking in a dance with the ache in her chest.
Hope remains locked behind a gate she rattles,
listening for a voice so far away it rides on
cosmic muzak, rides further & further toward
the Big Bang & she a forgotten speck
in the past.
Prompt via The Wombwell Rainbow
Art by Kerfe Roig