Time
The
hot morning air –
All
the flowers are wilting
Above
brown-dry grass
A
butterfly is searching
For
drops of dew and nectar
Thin
clouds, mere specters,
Dissolving
before her eyes
Into
the vast sky
Seasonal
time won’t comply,
(Unlike
our calendar years)
Oak
leaves, crisp and sere,
Tumble
down without a sound
On
the sloping mound
No
wind, falling to the ground
As
daylight hours grow shorter
It’s
the last quarter
Of a
life of many years
Ghosts
of friends appear,
Ghosts
from times that I hold dear,
Ghosts
of songs that I still hear,
Ghosts
that linger here,
Ghosts
from dreams, from other spheres,
Ghosts
calm and austere,
Ghosts
from streams that disappear,
Ghosts
resembling a shy deer,
Ghosts
from a frontier,
Ghosts
are time and time is near,
Ghosts
like distant trees
Seen
through a cold howling freeze,
Seen
through thickly falling snow
Streetlights
barely glow
As a
neighbor trudges home
After
work is through
There
was something he should do,
Something
he has forgotten
The
note he placed in
His
shirt pocket has fallen
Out
onto the street
When
he paused to stop and greet
An old
friend he had not seen
For
years, though it seemed
That
it was just yesterday
When
it was routine
They
would meet day after day
Exchanging
quips and wordplay
But
time eats away
At
all our expectations,
Time
burns like a fire
And
all that is required
Is
that she waits patiently
Hoping
she will see
In
the park where they once walked
His
approach, his smile
But
she’s surrounded for miles
By an
emptiness that’s vile
Blossoms
fall like tiles
Torn
from the plum trees’ branches
In a
bitter wind
He
offers incense for his sins
And freshly
picked daffodils
The courtyard
is still
Something
glows in the distance
Passing
the roofline,
Like a
musician keeping time,
Coursing
through the dream-filled air
Moonlight,
bright and fair,
Waning
from full, like a sigh,
Surrounded
by clouds
Hovering,
like a thin shroud,
Angels’
wings don’t make a sound
