Mindful of Minutes Unused
Footprints
yet to be made
undo a pristine winter shore.
Nothing for neap tide to make undone
in a lorn quarter moon.
Do not dance me in shimmers off
moonlit incoming wake.
My hands are empty and yours
undrawn.
My feet are numb with tardy
and
Time
has shown itself
without pity.
Heartbeats are counted and written
in the Book.
Dear God, let them be mine.
Not yours.
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