My building reflected in the next one as we come out 

into the sun. Walking away, hours I'll never get back. 

In walls, winch & grumble of cables, doors open 

& closing. A freight truck passes in many high panes 

of glass. Losses I planned to stay ahead of piled up, 

in the rush, passengers stepping on or off. 

Wall of what was or was not said, like train after train

a stillness got into me. Hurricanes picking up speed, 

summer becoming what kind of longer, thousands 

fleeing the equator into the eye of a wall. Can that  

be how we want it to end? Still fall flowers 

riot near my father's house in hills. Sun butter 

in a late window. Doors closing like hours of sleep.

Like ending with asking. Whose side is time on?