Last to leave, the joys
Of a well paced afternoon,
Are perfected with a heft-
-y sun reclining on the blue.

A school of turquoise fish in lines amass,
They dive into criss-cross cross-hatching cloth,
An ocean draping by the window pane,
Soaks all the pale and whitened walls in blue,
I've never seen them quite depart before,
I guess the sharks don't dally in their plane.

Days that crawl,
Along the wheels of time,
Hamsters on their rocking drums,
And many things come and go and stall,
As low stakes clog up the cogs with grime,
Maybe slower days pass better with a hum,
And all is right for moments like these,
To go on by in chugging chunks.