time, a ticking

sky turned over us,
bending light-to-dark,
dark-to-light, with pinholes
or flattened geometry
to guide us
day-to-day
for millennia.

then, a ticking,
a tricky play
with gears
on gears
inside, giving
our world
a pace
by which
to breathe,
to meet,
to intersect
amongst
trailing,
prevailing,
ensuing
bits of our day.

and now, so to be
closer with our makeup, we
measure movements, many
tiny movements,
hoping to sync with the world.