"... time not our time
Older than the time of chronometers..."
" The clock indicates the moment.
What does eternity indicate?"
To paraphrase an old friend.
"Time with you is...
is time out of time.
It's not real time."
Somehow this time counted less.
I couldn't and still can't quite figure it.
Earth turning, sundown, sunup
diurnal drudgery, daylight saving,
nine to five, ad absurdum...
THAT is real time.
This other,
a string of electric instants
crackling with sarcasms,
museum outings, parks, walks,
familial and romantic updates,
theories, ideas and idealisms,
replete with books, movies, laughter,
wry observations, an evolving soundtrack,
maintaining and developing,
on the whole,
over the years,
several themes-
THIS is somehow categorized as anomaly,
inherently untrustworthy
in its shoulder shrugging,
eyebrow arching inability
to be summarily dropped
into some drear-draped
coop of a definition.
On the Left Coast,
a decade later,
(my lover distant
and distinctly pissed)
as the sea fog dribbles
over the pine-needley
cliff-top pathway
and the moon-sheen
coats the cove below
I begin to understand
the understanding I was missing
was most immediate,
most male in scope and scale
and feel the germination
of a more Pachamama,
celestial comprehension of chronometry
might just have unwittingly tripped
some weird-wired dormant switch
and begun to lullabye
the unsated, inner-savage thing
so wont to fright and moan
and clutch and cling.
