time passes, does it not,
crawling away in specks, from a hole in the wall unnoticed
undetectable, specks of our days and months that
change into years
we might grow more pessimistic or sensible
we might allow the animals to howl or to mold
or we might rid of ranking and metaphor
and see plain and clear past the allegory
what is left of this analysis
the debris, the specks of the years –
what do we have?
What has become of this ? -
as perplexed time when the universes arrive in another cycle;
or perhaps we could see everything in the hope of faith
and drag on, in suspension
each but a hiding a myth,
a truth hidden in pictures and plainness
O sweet loves,
Time wraps us in its mysterious space
an inner space that draws a roar, a bark, a howl
