Double-Sided Clock

I rearrange the furniture
in my head

to clear a path
to that alcove

of possibility. Poetry is
wayfinding

written in Braille
with lemon rind

and a candle burning
at each station.

Doesn’t Check for Rings

One stop
sign, two
spritzes of rosewater, three
sips of iced mint
tea, four
acoustic guitar tunes,  five
kisses on the lips—we
almost got away with a sixth.