Mother Time often sits like a tree
catching golden sunlight in its green leaves.
So she lets clock ticks float through her hair
hardly noticing them there.
Markings we call time, she won’t heed.
The true business of Time has no need
for numbers. She’s alive in the dawn,
parading ‘cross the sky with bright colors on.
She’s climbing out of loam into light,
helping seedlings catch the sun just right.
She’s beating in a dark unseen part,
squirting with your blood through your heart.
In the infant’s crib, fast asleep,
she soothes him without uttering a peep,
rushing in and out of his nose.
Flowing with the wind as it blows
across mountain and plain, sea and shore,
she gives us her breath to implore:
”Stop a minute.
Wait a while.
Learn how to dance.
Don’t forget to smile.
Unbind the time from your human mind.
Take a breath or two to sit with your Mother.”
I began this as a revision of “Time has no number”, one of my dawn poems. It grew into a re-imagining and into its own work. I’m still not sure if it’s settled; please leave constructive comments if you have ideas or suggestions.