Stop Time Here

Stop time here.

Another drop falls to finish a circle unjoined.

Know what lies unstretched

will crack like crusted rubberbands,

or pop like taut guitar strings un-strummed.

Sense perception is the precipitation

rarely thirsted for only brewed

in bubbling wells until the earth,

with no reluctant mind, quenches itself

and isles of reborn flowers beam color,

as our hollow cheeks grow pale.