Lost Hour

A vacant beam of sunlight
across a thousand years of dark
illuminates a pictograph,
a lost hour-- high-noon
in some other realm of time.

Lodged in the present--
potsherds,
indentations pressed in clay,
Whose fingerprint?

all-you-can-eat buffet
air-conditioned rooms
the ring-tone will wake you shortly
after 7

An infant cries,
grasps a hollow breast.
A long-dead jack-rabbit needs skinning.
Dust, the color of blood
covers all the empty thresholds.