Concatenated Suns in an imaginary sky
reflected on these pictographs under glass.
It hasn't passed.
But the rhymes have,
just as the glance caught above the noodle bowl
that lasted but two whole seconds.
like the colour of the straps of the slippers on our feet
and the garments that we wear over our shoulders to fight the cold
or how we have our hair up in the day and down at night
as we wait to be taken home
like how clicking a button initiates a request-response cycle,
like how the verses of a song converge in a refrain,
like how spraying fixative sets a charcoal portrait,
and how the Sun shines in the same place each year
on the day that we were born.