KA Rees #11 - This place and that

This place and that

The end of winter, when frosted air forgets to hold memory
and skin no longer feels stretched over so much territory,
this is the time when the tick of the clock is a dance forward
and back; an oscillation between this place and that. If
there were no clock to check there would only be
clouds and falling rain. Now the rain slows, ticks
and slows as it drips down pipes and winds its way to drains.
Birds fly, shake feathers the light stretches to an afternoon
of shadow: buildings in New York.