Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Dance of Time

To every god there is
a season.

I didn’t say that.  What
I said was —

Every god is a season.
Or every god is a reason
to reconsider, to fail,

to fall, to grovel, to sit
in a subway station and
wait for deliverance.

Without a schedule, do
we know when it arrives —
this deliverance, this

time, this train barreling
down upon us with
intent, with change,

with doors opening,
discharging, then waiting,
to load, move forward?

A question, a concern,
a tango with the way time
controls the dance floor.

Do we know when time
changes us, delivers us
from the moment which

we find intolerable?

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