Salvador Dalí had it right,
time is elastic, organic,
asymmetrical, dragging
when we are shackled to
schedules and shoulds.
It flies a silent jet,
omitting tomorrow completely,
whenever we look away,
engrossed in, hypnotized by
the unfolding paper
flower of now.
Humans talk about time
as if it were real,
willingly cramming ourselves
tighter and tighter to fit
between the milliseconds.
Spending, storing, hoarding time as if it
had value and our lives didn’t,
we speak of time’s preciousness,
but then ignore the smile across the room,
our children’s fantastic drawings,
leaves lifting light into the wind,
flowers opening their faces to the world,
and all invitations to love our lives.
One day, time’s bubble will burst,
all clocks will melt and we will fill
ourselves with today’s fiesta,
tasting and sharing its
overflow as it passes into eternity and
a new today takes its place.