poem

 Time

Time is counting. Time adds up. Time is ticking down. The best is when it runs away and hides, disappears. You forget about it for a while. Because time too often is too near. Ticking in your ear. Seeping into your bones. Aging your back and ankles. How many breaths do you have left? Heartbeats. Sinus rhythm on the monitor. From there it’s simple math. Times 60. Times 60. Times 24. Times the expected years left. Check the actuarial tables. Minus the two you just used. Then time slips away like a guilty thief. Surreptitious. In cahoots with the big sheriff. You’ll never get your precious back. Time knocks on your door. Asks to come in. Rustles through all your papers. Dusts your shelves. Then leaves with your children. Some people set a timer and wait for it to count down to zero. Others press start and watch the accumulation until it gets to a predetermined number. I know a man who can sit still for an hour. A girl who will speed your heart. A woman who weaves space to time. Time is either big or small. Like the earth spinning in the middle of an infinite universe. An hour that lasts all childhood. A couple of minutes that drag on for the rest of your life. A life that flashes by in seconds. Somewhere a man is sleeping past noon. Everyone else is staring at the ceiling at 3am. Calendars of loss and regret hanging on refrigerators in the dark. Circadian rhythms. Apoptosis. Death by natural causes. When? How long did it last? It’s critical we make a notation. Document tme and date. Contributing causes. It used to be easier to wake up than fall asleep but I found ways to make it easier either way. Exhaustion on the front end, fear of death on the other. In the early morning I can find the secret place between now and the next now. That’s where I find you. In the distance I hear a noise that sounds like an alarm. Someone’s time is up. I check my pulse. I wake up.

12/28/25