-
Get Published on Female First
The corridor caught in the convex
glass, familiar, like some
memory still to come, curved
round to converge
upon some unreflected,
unreached
point. Beyond,
he vaguely perceived the
second
hand sweep in
silence, rippling the
reflection in
his eyes. Deep
down,
some half-forgotten
memory
stirred, the pedantic
tick
of a half-
remembered
childhood
clock that moved
his
mind to
rearrange, to stretch
and
squeeze,
to seek,
to find the
rhythm that
curled
and coiled
around
his heartbeat,
beating
time.
Tagged in jim barrass