By  Lisa Fontaine

The Sky came Down on a Thursday Afternoon

And the inches in the hourglass flipped
into fiction.
Those years. A daydream.
Ashes on your false
of the purest blue
that promised
that are now visions
that taunt.
The future is a blade
which time
presses my body against.
It beg that it’s swift,
but first
it feels my soft form
measures the beats of my heart
which seize
and cease.