Time
Time
I am a mountain.
Children ascend me,
Eagerly climb,
Walk, and love,
And lie still.
Some fly over;
I hope they talk.
One reaches zenith.
From her I crave wisdom.
For half haunted heaven is hell.
She does turn, avian,
And gives me a squawk.
Ah, that is wise,
But can’t realize.
And ‘top the rest lay it,
Augmenting my dust.
What mountainous gravity holds us so?
But, our attraction to what’s past.
Then does not attraction, too,
Pull us forward?
No.
But with each gossamer moment
Of creation blown over us,
It is avoiding interment
That stirs our feet –
The press of events,
To rise a shade higher –
Later, latest,
Now.
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