I asked the sundial on the ground,
how old does earth become?
What is the time of light
melting on the rock?
Is my shadow
the second hand of yesterday?
Did you shine through me
when I was born?
So I asked the hand of light
coming through the window.
Is everything a clock?
The way a book casts its shadow
morning, noon, and night.
Is night a place
without time to tell?
Is it always there?
So many dreams are timeless there.
When I stand in the sun
does my life shorten back to youth?
How much time is hidden in a rock?
Such unbelievable eons touch my hand
so quiet, so still.
A limestone trellis of forever.
If I ran fast as light
will I be young again?
Or too fast for time to tell?
Or be timeless
without time’s arrow
plunged in my heart.