Friday, April 25, 2014


Or time-lagged

The moments when it seems that
there is not enough of everything
to fill the void of time.

Time enough.  And in.  Dream.

Conjecture moves the wheels of
society (perhaps gossip as well).
A tiger kills the startled lamb.

In the evening, just before
sunset, a crow creases the distance
between our chimney and the next.

In the recesses of the cedar tree
a nest.  I hear doves ever morning
and think of Muskoka lakes.

Time to. Sow. Reap. Time to.

Even in a rocking chair I will sing
those songs of aging as though
they are fresh from birth.

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