Time

The seconds are a picket
fence, memories the border
and hours children, the hedge
growing.  You smiled and
smile,  the various times,
the cornucopia, the words,
a string laid tangled across
events.  I felt and feel.
And bend inwards to
a day.  Just a day.  Just
a quick compendium of
unfinished dreams.  Awake,
I am, and the colour of
eyes is startled, surprised,
secretive.  Like maple sap
in that ambivalent moment
between nurturing a tree,
or turning into syrup to be
poured on breakfast
pancakes, making what might
be ordinary, something special.
Time with you.