A moment melts like my scarf draped, 

hung to rest for the night.

In my shop, time is concrete, firm in its place. 

With thin, pointed tweezers nestled between my fingers, I write time.

My hands meticulously shift gears. 

I control the unison clicks of clocks. 

But when the sun dips, and I retreat to sleep, time unwinds

defrosts

dissolves. 

My dreams warp the rigid: time bends and molds 

Edges turn metal into liquid 

     My own slumber contradicts my craft

A second drips out of existence

Minutes stretched beyond the horizon dissipating into the brisk mist

    Hours into a gasp 

    A moment’s escape melts away  

Dreams offer a parallel universe where time writes itself.

I do not understand the universe of slumber. 

I only accept what cannot be controlled: I lose power over time. 

But when I return to my ticking gears, 

all of my watches unite in synchronization.  

Time realigns. I regain control of the intangible.