Stalled Engine

The furnace clicked off and the hallway went cold,

leaving a silence that tastes like the air.

The light on the floorboards is slanted and gold,

catching the dust as it hangs in the glare.

At 4:12 exactly, the second hand died,

a jagged red needle that gave up the race.

It’s a small, plastic rib with a vacuum inside,

holding its breath on the wall’s empty space.

Twice in the dark and twice in the light,

it pretends it is keeping the world moving right.