In the throat of an hourglass,
all tilts, all turns—
the world leaning into
the sharp, silver eye of a mirror.
The victor falls to vanquished,
woman bends into man,
darkness blooms into light,
stalagmite drips into stalactite,
centrifugal folds into centripetal—
and back again.
Time pulses,
an elongated tick…
a flowing tack…
yo-yoing, swinging, folding,
where beginnings kiss endings,
where all opposites
meet and dissolve
like smoke into air,
like wave into wave.
In the span of an hour,
the world overturns,
and in its spinning,
all returns to the source,
to the still, silent center,
where moments stretch and unroll,
pose in reverse,
mirror in mirror—
butterfly wings,
figure eight,
unceasing reflection
spinning the zero
over and over,
each turn a new face of eternity.
