'Late Cup'
day thins on toothy edges,
each request arrives, softening contours.
Still, hands move in steady patterns,
carrying out what the moment asks
while the inner field settles
into quieted grain.
a cup waits on the bench,
its position unchanged,
holding a small shift of light
room adjusting around it rim
body and mind follow that adjustment,
working through each hour
with same steady mutedness.
corridor air congregates
in slow stepping gait,
walls leaning into familiar stillness.
A hooked cloth stays where it was,
offering a point to return to
as the day moves in lowered light,
each motion calibrating toothed whispers
of what can be carried.
.
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Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 17th, 2026 05:18
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
- In collections: 2026.
Offline)
Comments3
a very good observant write my friend
Many thanks friend🙏🕊️
always welcome
A complex poem of time itself and nature's clock measured by sun. The hour marked by light and shadow moves about the room in quite mute measures. "Hands move in steady patterns" Toothy edges reminiscent of the gears in a clock, the hooked cloth the meridian twelve on the clock a place to return to. Time measured by movement is well set here. There is a sense of unalterable quiet movement in this poem. Lovely and a fave
Many thanks from the depths of my heart dear friend. 🙏🕊️
An interesting write and metaphorical shades of words combining the piece. Nicely done.
The shades are what make the highlights pretty and outstanding. thank you so much, dear friend 🙏🕊️
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