Pie

The day is divided into day-parts...24 hours, a bunch of minutes too high to calculate on my fingers...I allocate portions...a piece of pie to each day.

Here for sleep, perhaps less than I would care for...

Here for when I get to drink...less than I would care for.

The day has its milestones like almost always...I wake, I drink coffee, I drive to work against a cement forest and traffic...I plug in and I communicate.  I spread my thin wafers of time against a day of demands and requests....

My work consumes me like the weather...I have to respond...I have to be in it...hurricane or gorgeous day.  It fills me with a paycheck that makes me get up the next day...and the next.

The evenings are very slight...tiny moments in the amount it takes for a sun to decline over a western line.  Then dinner...then a drink or more.

The day begins...I rise and I carve out the pieces and allocate them.  Distribute them for those that need a piece of me.


But there is another day...another set of sunrises and sunsets...a brief interlude or an invasive thought...another set of minutes and hours.  And like a broken clock the hands don't move forward but rather backward.

They spin off back into a time that is so much the opposite of my current day.

The bits of my day that are taken by you...devoted to you...allocated to you.  Surprisingly they appear in a song on a radio, a reflection in a mirror...a bed still warm beneath the covers...and the mind moves into a space that you only occupy.

In my mind there is a clock of you...that remembers and records...it tracks our time together and then spools backwards to remind me of it.

It is the direct opposite of the minutes that I awake to that remind me that we are spending another day apart.