(Prompt: Stopwatch, Limes, Shoelace, Mahogany)

Tick. Tick. Tick.
Every second counts
backwards, forwards, two dimensional
time in space. You hold depth,
the third dimension.

Tick. Tick. Tick. 
Time is life’s currency. Spend it
like your life depends on it—it does,
breathing time like air, squeezing lungs
like limes against tongues, embittered.

Tick. Tick. Tick. 
The years pass and you let your life amass
in concentric circles, looping and spinning,
circular reasoning and tight little knots,
like scabby shoelaces never undone.

Tick. Tick. Tick.
Cruel, unforgiving world. You harden organically,
like a redwood tree withstanding the test of time,
stiff and seasoned as cold-cut mahogany.
You shall stand here as long as the logger allows.

Tick. Tick. Ti—