With arrow hands, the hours
Roman numerals,
the clock on the front porch is large
as a barrel lid, moonfaced—
the couple inside
in flagrante delicto
time
shut out like a pesky terrier.

That moment is
hard, immobile. But when the light

at night comes
from different directions, we have more
than one shadow: several
at our feet and one following
slightly behind as if

we were stalking ourselves. Look over your shoulder.

The lawns here are razor edged,
the skidmarks
on the sidewalk
like parentheses
whose inner thoughts have been lost
or run away,

and from where we sit, we can’t realize
how tiny they are—
the tightrope walkers,
their bodies weightless
as prayer.

Try to stop that train with your bare hands.

Kathy Davis lives in Glen Allen, VA and is the area director for a nonprofit organization that promotes the use of the arts in education. She has an MBA from Vanderbilt University and an MFA from Virginia Commonwealth University. Her work has appeared in the North American Review, Bellevue Literary Review, storySouth and numerous other journals. Her chapbook, Holding for the Farrier is due out this summer from Finishing Line Press.