Time passes
as it pleases,
racing like Olympic sprinters
approaching the finish line,
crawling like molasses
over the jar's rim,
collecting itself like raindrops
in the cup of the tulip,
releasing like a coaster
from the crest of the hill.
Time slams dead against the wall,
plummets from the tip of the crescent moon,
eases down into the heat of the hot tub,
drips away like a neglected, leaky faucet.
Time passes
as it wills.
And you? And I?
We breathe all the same.
Our hearts beat on,
into time,
through time,
in spite of time's madness,
time's uncaring, relentless passing.
Time thinks seldom of us.
We must think often of one another.
Text and image © 2021 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.
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