Counting Time

Counting Time


Counting time.
Mere grains falling in the glass,
more below than left above.
They seem identical, those crystals,
all in the seeing. How many grains
wrap into a hug? Or a kind word to a stranger?
In a poem, perhaps? Or a puddle
gleefully splashed? Sky-painted sunrise
seems to halt time, even if
for just a moment.

Forty-some years ago I
smashed that hourglass, sent it flying
across years beyond the given.
Beyond that 'C' word detonation.
Created a new definition, gave birth
to new meaning beyond the mere.
Would not, did not live by scared seconds
when wanting millennia too much
to watch seconds flick by.

And, I learned it was the minute moments
of unparalleled joy that plied time,
that misery was finite clothed in memory,
that which is beyond my control, my ken, my power
and my gumption is simply that
which I need to let go of and watch float away.
Until my thread is cut my tapestry grows
warmer and more complex. Convoluted, perhaps.
And yet, it and I grow and give, write and rewrite,
and love as if I've all the tomorrows in the world.