time bent over backwards
always forgets herself
at a 90-degree-angle, she is worried of doing what's good over what's right,
time touches her toes, and pulls them up from where they should be rooted in the earth
dust, on the seeking plain,
a mound of earth, creeping like a floorboard,
dust, making time dark,
floorboards, making time straight,
she is pushing up, breaking as she tries to bend over backwards