slowly the clocks tick

memory permeates whatever landscape she’s in. it pools into things she identifies as “riverbed” or “red ant.” in this way, it reminds her. sometimes it seems she has nothing left but memories and patience. still, how long everything takes! and where it’s taken—one more thing that’s never discussed. she imagines a valley of green foliage seen each time in a slightly different light. maybe her life was really eventless. everything being sunlight, solitude of silent velvety fields of violas, snow, slice of melon.