Response to Falling Back, six poems for Fall in NY Times

We are all fools
for the falling back.
The sky outside stays dark.
The template of light is muted
into black and white.

Methodical, we set our mechanical time
backward, lay down
sleeping in cold edged air
against a background of light
darkness.

I wish for time to be mine.
A single hour to be culled from
setting a mechanical clock,
cradled gently in my hands,
blown upon and watched
as the feathers curl and float softly away.