Tick (Notevember 2021, #14)

Time and time again
A pendulum can swing back and forth
And still somehow move things in one direction
No such contradiction here
I’m sure it’s been eight-oh-three now
On more occasions than I care to count
Endlessly
The roses have started to wilt
Faded, dried
Then come back to life
Drooping into death
And furling back into anthesis
Like a recyclable gift to the pollinators
While these two spinning hands
Give a great, big middle finger to entropy
Trying their best to tick it off