Time there

Time didn't stop, it just didn't

matter anymore

back to the old computation

of suns and moons

of counting in twelves

thumb on the pulp of the phalanges

to the bird pecking
the breadcrumbs at lunch

– it will certainly be there

when the place will be dead

perhaps checking the spot

every once in a while

till it then dies too –

to the after-dinner walk on the shore

or the dinner itself

both dictated by needs only

thirst, hunger, sweat, satiety

to the pile of read books

and the local daily

details effaced in the mind

smoothed like a stretched but

unbreaking plastic table cover

time there just wasn't

impressions couldn't remain

memories faded upon waking

stayed only what served the instinct.