The second hand is missing.
There is still time,
but without a second hand.
Road trips are quiet,
the scenery looks the same
but there is a loneliness
between
the trees and a sadness flowing
along the river.
The world is somehow off kilter
but
just inside of me. It's my particular perception
that is askew.
It isn't something that is
fixable.
There is simply additional space between the minutes since you're gone.
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