Finding timeIf it all seems too fast
it’s actually slo-mo
I have no time but time
is all I have
the past is what you carry
a pocketpal, a reference
I pull it out and check it
from time to time
it’s not helpful but addictive
this romance with what was
it leaves traces but you can’t
feel them not like silk through the fingers
when I show you what I’ve got
the shudder of touch, a barely perceptible
roar in the air: wind, bird, the creaking trees
my mother used to say I was born old
youthfulness crept up on me
when I wasn’t paying attention
the claws of the clock
say don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop
ticking one second per second
time lapse curls back on itself
looks like continuous change
tastes like stillness
