Sunday, December 4, 2016


I can see change
But not time.
I can hear melody
And imagine time like that—
More fanciful than the ticking, chiming of a clock.
I can touch the empty cradle, the fallen leaf,
But time’s texture is a mystery.
Wherever, whatever
Time is,
I see the lightning bolts of white
Working their way
Like magic
From my temple to my skull,
And whatever Time is,

It has touched me.

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