Montage

Steady trickle splash.
Drip, drip, drip.
The shadow of eternity,
The starving panther’s spit.

Time slowly capitulates
to the image in your mind.
The blasted heath of providence
is all that we can find.

The lonely marauders
scour ‘cross the dunes
looking for a watering hole,
to make their final tomb.

Bottomless pipe of time leaks on,
through the walls and floors
maybe one day God will come
to bend our rigid doors.