An Image of the Images Making Days These Days

The shop was a hive of lazy bees.
Earlier, the house was a shadowed den;
later, the effect is slightly altered.
At work, the minutes pass like rain beneath
our greased and sooted palms.
On my bike inside a morning yet to dawn
I watch a headlight push my shadow
to a figure stretching tall:
twenty feet or more of this new
effortless companion, silent ghost.
At the shop, tall doors remained closed,
sheet metal eyelids, slow to wake.


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