Unsettled Clouds

Burbling its verb

poured from the teapot,

white steam rises

before it cools.

A short dialogue with air,

chordal as plucked strings.

How long until

these notes resolve as water?

Toward the day’s last bus

the second hand advances.

Still lives alter.

Even in a painting,

motionless flowers

twist sunward.

She checks her watch,

he hums a song from his hometown,

filling final moments with its tune.

In the slant light of afternoon

objects in the room

look bright and ordered.

The man’s and woman’s shining faces

shift in conversation,

one angle gleaming, one gone dim,

their words sliding

from the light.

Slant, more slant.

Shadows on the table

slowly claim the floor,

shadow clouding shadow.

The terms for what is left

are written on the window.