**in Terms Of Time Poem by Jon Alan

the way the sun reflects off matter
around 3 pm on sunny balmy pre-autumn holidays

where there are usually throngs of people milling about

today a loneliness envelopes me

as i watch the doorway where a lone figure used to stand
arrogantly
peering angrily at the passing masses
toothpick in cheek
defying the transients with an imposing unspoken anger

who are these monsters invading this block

he always seemed to be daring them to stop and challenge him
but some hint of psychopathy in the hard twinkle of his eyes
kept them moving
not daring to be curious

and each day at 3 pm he rises from his leaning
stretches
turns
and enters the doorway
disappearing from the amber early twilight
leaving his ghost

i stand and watch in awe
as no one passes on this solemn day
as a sudden gust of wind slams against the door he used to enter
and my watch says 3 pm

but he is gone now

the wind, his gesture from beyond

golden sundrops everywhere search for the presence that kept the watch
reporting back that he has failed to emerge today
and i wonder if i am watching myself
in terms of time...