Matter Of Time Poem by Bea Hayden

A soft plume rises from your wet lips
and dissipates slowly.
Through the icy windows a
Willow can be seen-
the weeping has stopped
as if frozen in time, no motion catches the
eye
nor does a smell permeate the gelid air.

The floorboards cease their creaking, as
they have gone
Numb
along with the clock who frigidly fails to
acknowledge that time is still passing

Then again, maybe it isn't.

As the moon shines its light over the
Raw earth,
it seems to cascade a degree of comfort

Almost as comforting as the
tranquil warmth
that radiates from your soft being.

As I tremble slowly into you, I am dreamily
certain that
time has stopped.