We, sheeted mummies
in a shade of quilted patches
Hide from planes and travels
Locked inside the hatches
Bathing in the memories
Of naked bones and scratches.
You and I and Atmosphere
Lacking worldly air
More than outdoor color
It’s single breaths we share
Afraid to be discovered
By Father Time’s betray’r.
But lest we not forget
That time is single measures
Scribed inside a ticking clock
Of breathlessness and pleasures
Eluded by even not
Most irascible of treasures.
