By Nathan Lunt
In the darkening glow of a moonlit sunset,
I met a familiar stranger walking
the lonely communal road
To the central peripherals of my mind.
He was robed in naked reasonless logic,
Speaking with simple complexities
in plainly articulated jargon
Of a language I spoke fluently
without comprehension.
He asked me for the time,
snatching my watch from my wrist
And scattering it across the liquid landscape,
Where its seeds feasted on starving voids
and grew to blossoming months across
the scorched orchards of my years.
From a hanging branch he plucked a birthday,
Withering its flesh to funeral processions
as it met his lips.
He offered me a smile like a casket,
But I could see the cradle of another lifetime
resting in his eyes.
We parted ways, and as I viewed him
disappearing into the horizon
I thought nothing on the pale band around his wrist
Where once a watch had rested.