My head seems full of words today, displayed
like plastic magnets from a kitchen fridge.
I draw and clutch a fistful here and there,
And fret out notions, like toy soldiers
Ranged for battle in the summer grass.
Just now, while tinkering with inner talk,
The whispers of surrounding shadows called,
And I could faintly hear some spilling sand:
A gentle hourglass, making warning sounds,
To waken me from this finagling.