small measures

It has been a while, measured
in breaths, in, out, like tick
and talk about the weather
Time marked and dismissed
with the taking of pills
and meals and chilled tea
I haven’t thought of you
in days, maybe weeks
Thyme cures all, they say
Rambles and brambles
would etch patterns
more entrancing than
the creases of these sheets
imprinted on my skin
Artists, like prisoners,
make much of so little,
dying to be remembered