discernment  (          & the Ant)

Well, yes–marching along single-filed, good
-natured bunnytailbubble kids like us, 
 dropped Dorito-bound, lined up sock-footed 
en route down stacked cinder block inscriptions…
 We look up. A Dollar Tree clock, viscous thick
now over the Wall’s pocked bricks, oozing goo,
 fills the grooves. Our one request we quickly
scrawl, path tracing letters that reverse into

 cursive incantations. Intangible
Peace at last born, borne by child’s instrument
 of petulant destruction. We 
      called time here. Nursed it
     
       with salt water, and held it in our mandibles.
 We became wet nurse to an experiment 
Fusing fire, sweat, and ice. We are not the clock.