Question of Time

A clock with no hands, an exposed body, a burning sun. Red and bone, flesh and void—time consumes without haste, without pause. A man stretches, his edges blurred between life and shadow. In his hand, something firm, something uncertain. Below, a fractured grin, witnessing the relentless passage. The background echoes light and stain, seconds dripping in yellow and gray. There is no waiting, only the moment. It’s all a matter of time.