The injury of time

The injury of time

A flight deep into the time wrapped in stillness
like a thoughtless empty gesture.
I guess you found it in an empty vase,
pebbles in blue lustre shining red with lust.

Searching in my somersaulting mind
with many ends and no starting point,
for a recall to be had, I found one,
but the query had since been forgotten

Other tracks lead to empty voids
extirpated by the injury of time.
Thank time and injury
for all those pains that have been forgotten

Probing in the racks of my mind
derailed by a scent of thyme,
whining whistles of wind
turning round the wheel of time.

The sun bakes the scorched twigs,
moulted gems scatter the light.
Scarabs search the shadow
of my hidden past.