Time
surrounds us like a strong wind,
Swirls at
different speeds,
Assails with
gale-force buffets,
Scatters
dead leaves around
To see what
lies beneath,
Drops pine
cones, gum balls, and
Branches
from tree tops in a fitful rage,
Before it
moves on and leaves
A mime’s impression
of a light breeze to
Stir the
heap of remnants with
One-directional
hand-spins, sun shadows,
And verb-tense
changes that can craft narratives.
The invisible,
fourth-dimensional coordinate
Scratches
out its effects, strange hieroglyphics,
Clues to a
new lexicon,
Spoken and
written only by time itself,
Etched into
our faces,
Engraved
onto our countryside,
Imprinted
upon our skies and horizons,
Woven through
layers of earth.
Translators
and code breakers surrender,
Leave its secrets
untouched for a new generation,
Know they
cannot outwit its stealth and mastery
Of all change,
transition, and ephemeral being,
Cannot reset
the rambling itinerary,
Cannot escape
its edicts even if they can calculate a way,
Unless time,
itself, changes.
©cmheuer, 2018
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