A dripping faucet marks the seconds in accumulating mercury pools,
slatted silver flashing through Venetian blinds
to stripe those huddling globules in divisions of time;
they won’t be divided, won’t be categorised for convenience.
Every dashing, steel behemoth shakes this pool,
every footfall of every thing sends shivers,
judders of reality from this grouped liquidity.
One might call them family how they strive to be,
or, perhaps, just droplets of water caught in a sink.