In parenthesis
and so I plan to put all these days,
these lost days, four walls,
one hundred silent hours — I will contain this
eternity in
parenthesis
or like an afterthought I will trace
its shape onto the sky —
this same square patch of blue that
I have come to know
like the feel of my own fingers, I draw
notches — tally marks
etched white like chalk
to fill the empty space between sunsets, each
a tiny victory scored over
the endlessness of days;
I paint my tally-marks onto the sky,
feel the evening sun on my skin, and wait until
I have coloured eternity in.