All objects are made
yours by use, each one a doll
of your affection.
At the end of chains
pocket watches twist, speaking
their one utterance,
prayer machines sewing
time together and forming
sentences. Which day
will words change into
the things they name? Not today.
Bodies float in space,
their umbilicals pulled taut,
beaming hushed messages home.
Filed under: Haiku, Haiku Sonnets, Life, Mortality, Musings, Poetry, Sonnets, Space, Thoughts, Words, Writing
