more than reasonable stopgap dilution
might menace out or close down. We close
down, still water clicks past, here
amongst other calendars, here prior
          reproof by whose volition
          felt bobbing deftly under:

though slick deaf in the hands I’m capable
of what are you, angled; and I look
ahead, as we’re told is to be done,
and certainly, you’re there. But so are shelves,
          Kilner jars, some sort of washer,
          latches, jam, the casing. Water

clicks back past into place and I have heard
love, deafeningly sealed between
the dextrous angled trees, pressing here
my chest across the airfield, anchored by
          your calibrating face, held
          retort, numbingly ahead.

_____

Timothy Thornton’s poetry has appeared in MAYS 14, Oxford Poetry 2008, AXOLOTL Magazine, Holly White, and Cambridge Literary Review. His first two chapbooks are published by Grasp Press. He works as an accompanist and pianist, blogs here, and lives in Liverpool.