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He made time from spinning seconds collected from door jambs
where passersby would pause, lost in transition
shedding tufts of unheard ticking and occasional moments of pure grace
he stood askew from busyness and breathed it loose
gently drawing out forgotten strands to ply back into the whole
and as his fingers worked his mind wound back
to lazy Sunday reunions at the foot of Mt. Olympus
where family was as oft monster as divine
and aunt Clotho sat him down for lessons with a nod
let other men swing swords in clumsy imitation of her sister’s shears
his needles knitted time into what was needed most
a day longer to say goodbye, a heartbeat more for judgment
and his especial favorite: emergency baby blankets
for parents who needed every scrap of time they could find
and infants who could never get enough
his twin found her gift in carving time in wood
shaping years into subtle rings of stories that now always were
but he preferred crochet
he smiled at the jokes on the train and patiently
cast another stitch in time to ease its passing.