In my world

By James Conway

In my world there are no clocks
only honeyed bees and air
clear, dark and light, with
warmth and cold wrestling
for prestige and instinct
rolling its dice where the teeth
of tomorrow are wrapped
up snugly and nice.
Thirst too like hunger
is sewn into my day.
when I walk into hours
rain sometimes comes
with leaves making up
for loneliness, as a whistler
is heard way back towards
the hills and evening falls
into its arms.