There’s this geographer I know.
He’s an expert at knowing where to look.
Keeps his finds carefully.
Here, splitting rocks. There, flipping stacks, of Vinyl.
In each case, peeling back the layers to find treasures.
Digging. Searching for a timeline. A spiral line.
Preferably pristine and without scratches.
Searches are timeless. 33 minutes spiral inwards.
45, the quarter hour, diminishes in to nothing.
What is left? A prize.
Time, laid down.
© Tom Tide 2017