Time. How inadequate we define it.
Every definition of time
has the word time in it.
Why not define it in meters, inches,
or miles of moonlight.
Why not define it by the amount
of faces swallowed by history,
or by the count of hearts we’ve broken.
Why mention time when defining time.
Take the hourglass,
sand falls a certain distance.
Time can be defined in grains of sand
multiplied by drop height.
Take watches and clocks.
Each hand travels a given circumference,
same round distance, repeatedly.
Time can be defined in laps per hand.
The Big Bang, the beginning of time,
is nothing but a pod of stars in a single chrysalis,
chrome butterflies released to infinity.
Soft petals of light flowing
through the fabric of god’s blood, which is endless.
Destiny, the purpose of time,
is a dark haired Cuban woman
and she lies on my bed like a gift of vision,
a collection of strings and chimes
through smoking pyres of incense.
Our lips are an inch apart.
Where are you now
old withered hours.