Time

A ray of liquid, morning-gold light

warms a clean, clear glass

and the neighbor dust motes

in a swirling manifold splendor

of hard glints and the small, soft

fireworks of a miniature universe.

I nearly drown in the heartache

of wanting to sit, to watch,

to thrill with delight in the created

glory of light for a lingering half-eternity.

But there is the ticking of the clock.

There is the imperceptible,

(imperceptible, but not slow)

bending of each dying and rebirthing

cell of my body

toward the moment of no-more-return.

And there are duties of mine

dying faster even than my own body.

My Lord, I've learned the love of eternity's pace

too early. Teach me haste again.