Staring long at the hard face of an antique clock
cobwebs stretched between the hands
and feeling stuck in this room
in the shadows of the afternoon
nodding to the reliable ticks
anticipating the chime
hearing the slow parade of seconds marching by
waving flags and lifting their knees up high
I keep rehashing long lost minutes that had been worthy of note
or at least a doodle on a napkin
while there were others far more grim          
even excruciating
but that’s water under the bridge now
and spilt milk I refuse to dwell upon
or cry about

I’d give anything to turn away from all this
to see how time really flies
and to hitch a ride to it
Grasping it somewhere under the wings
holding on for dear life
eager to see just where it goes
to have some fun                    not counting the altitude
which only ramps up my old phobia
up here with the wind
and the light from celestial bodies
cutting through
not wanting to be dropped from above
but to be let down gently somewhere

When will it be and where
and will my watch and calendar both work there
Pondering what Albert Einstein might advise
in such a circumstance
Startled by just how far time has taken me
Will it be so far from where I was
that I will recognize no one and no thing
Will my mind be unable to keep up
with how far I’ve flown
and  how far time has taken me
all this exhilaration from flying
all this sweaty disorientation and glee
catching up to time and vice versa.


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