Time

The time of the hour
is changing
as the wind swings direction
and calls my name
once more

The time of the hour
moves on
ever swiftly
no pause
for breathe
or contemplation
of more

The time of the hour
is dark before dawn
crushed by defeat
and weight of anguish
calling your name
in twisted moonlight sweat,
left without shadow
or incident
hands holding more
than before

The time of the hour
has a different name
shouting
to the moon
swathed in darkness
bathed
in breathlessness
panting
clutching
reaching
for the promise
that hangs in the wind.