We balance the clock on a stack of books.
Your arms make grand gestures
but barely move.
The alarm goes off at three minute intervals.
I dream of the leak above the stove.
We still don’t know
where the water is coming from.
The alarm goes off.
The ceiling collapses.
The water rushes.
I repeat this every three minutes
and in between demand that you hold me.
For long moments
I swim in a still pond,
where water is supposed to be.