If you’re always on my mind, what then, is time?
If time is driven by quantum, am I the butterfly on the breeze.
Can I make a hurricane of your heart. How long will it last.
And how devastated will we be once it has blown over
and we are there in its wake, counting our loss
The hands on a clock – shaking, shaking.
I’ve given up waiting for you. I said, I would wait forever
but forever was too long. Too much time has passed
water under our skin. I held my breath for as long as I could
30 seconds, 45 seconds, a minute.
I counted the white spots behind my eyes. I lost count
Of the days and the weeks and the months and the years,
the changing of the seasons and the cycles of the forest.
I gave birth to civilisation upon civilisation.
I gave birth to the twins of conceit and deceit.
I kept the receipt. I stood in these queues that we form
ageless with the patience of saints.
Shuffling our feet trying to find the right words
at the right time
as we approach the booth, as we bend our necks to speak
through the tiny holes in the thick glass facade
that allow our voices to be heard.
All is not lost when we have time on our side.
Lying on our sides, facing away from each other
all those hours before dawn that warp and then blend
into a dawn quilt lit with birdsong
and remembrance.
Do you have the time for me.
Do you know what time it is.
Can you recall the last time we did anything that wasn’t
For money. The trickledown effect
of planetary wealth.
Standing on the landing, waving goodbye to loved ones from the shore
a journey to the new world by boat that will take as long as it takes.
I can’t wait to see you again
Meaning: I will wait for as long as it takes
for the world to re turn you to me.
Some journeys take longer than others.
Some never start, other’s never end.
Time and forbearance. Foreclosure. Lost clocks,
broken springs and things. Tiny magnets
that mimic the surge of the sun.
Bent time. Time that hankers back
to the first shocked appearance of stars against
the nightsky – white holes, black holes
Nothing escapes. Not even time. it tends backwards
and then in a rush it is gone taking the ending
of this poem
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