the slow turn

i wonder what a tiny cog
in a big machine
doing its littlest part
in the grander scheme of things
rolling and turning in sync
with neighboring gears meshing
tooth into tiniest tooth
might offer by way
of some realized truth
should it or could it stop
to reflect for a moment or two
on its own tiny lot
in this particular life
as one like the rest
(only not) —

is this the end or simply a pause
as a steady rain
does its best to wash away
the rusted remains
of far too many yesterdays
while i (slowly)
turn blue.