On the clock-face, the hand traverses identical divisions during the torture session and making love.
- G. Steiner, Grammars of Creation
It is everything to my loneliness
Each tick has its time,
This piece was written on 25 Friday 2003 in Ponferrada, Spain while I was walking the Camino de Santiago.
After reading the passage indicated at the beginning, I lay back in my bunk and stared at the slats of the bunk above me, with the pocket watch that J.G.M. had given me pressed up against my ear, listening to the clicking steps of time as it moved through the halls of my memories.