In response to Chris’s response …
So little time we have,
and yet it streams
between the fingers and the toes,
dredged like muddy rivers,
dark and unmarked with any glitter.
Time, a wheel of stars
out of reach,
we watch, open-mouthed,
the slow, majestic roll of the sky,
and when we look down
and fix again upon the ground beneath our feet,
the season’s changed,
and red leaves blow
where green shoots shone.