dusts of time

A clock forgets
how to do seconds, 
ticks its own time,
a traffic jam of moments,
bottlenecked seconds
not getting through.

The weathervanes liquify,
suspended by clouds buoying metals saying
hold on, don't drip now.

Coats of dust, who were you
Who were you
twenty thousand years ago? 

Bloomed rock layers
erode, undone.
Stuck stacks of clam shells,
haven't begun
and time trickles.

A black jacket swirls
in shallow canyon water. 
Caramel melts against walls of
sands, sugaring coats of dust.

After eight thousand years,
three million birds haven't noticed.

Tornadoes sweep weathervane metals into canyons
building layers, hardening years in millions,
morphing uncountable blooms.

Katie Ancheta