Caught In Time
We are caught in time:
frozen solid like icicles
in memories,
To our glance was the
morning’s chill
singing
it’s steadfast melodies.
I, looking toward the sky,
thought about the perpetual
changing of seasons.
It’s getting cold, I hear,
And yet, you seem querulous
with doubt. You fear the
entire world
and winter.
Though all I’ve heard in return
is soft whispers...
there is power to that rasp,
to the timbre tone you speak,
what was it you said,
“Time is weak?”
If we took this morning
glory, the clear, crisp
sky, with its purity
and grace,
would split open as
soft lips,
we’d could fly away,
and drift from this place.
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