It could be polished ivory, minutely worked and delicate.
The head of an Egyptian queen, fit to be kept
under glass in a museum, an ancient work of art.
But look at it more closely. It turns out this is made
of matchsticks, packed tight and perfect, constructed
out of empty days and patience, stick by tiny stick,
made exquisite by this: that time is white
as bone when time is all you own and all
that can be done is to assemble it
unstruck, unburnt,
stick by stick
by stick