Flutter

The window is aflutter
with the day's newborn rays,
envoys from the heavens
thrust

at the immensity of our existence.

The room fills up
in unhurried moments,
like a schoolboy's watercolour.

The cosmos surges

in fractions of coffee cups and childhoods

as eternity pounds away like a machined heart.

We are surrounded by movement

but we,

we do not move.