By Blood and Marriage
The grandfather clock
in the entrance hallway
proclaims the hour
like a gentleman caller
knocking upon
a wooden door.
Opaque.
Like trying to remember
the details of a dream.
Translucent.
Like the empty space
between intervals.
Lonely hours.
On a bus, on a train,
on an empty bed
in an empty bedroom.
Some things, once done,
cannot be undone.