Days in a week

The spinning wheels of the clock
are a reminder of the breath we owe
doors the sun opens, it also locks
whether the moon’s breasts show
or not,
or a loose knot
unties the night
in a Swedish plate.
gods of the second hand,
children of Hydros
grandchildren of Gaea
here are our hands
untied in mud
loose to your winds
so you flirt with our deaths.
names we have chosen
tomorrow, today, yesterday
non rhymes with your pain.
The spinning wheels of time
is a reminder of the breath
we must give, so
doors the sun opened will lock
with hyphen—
between two dates.

Ruddapoet