Listen. Time passes.
The green trajectory a leaf
Leaves when floating to the floor,
Cuts the air in arches.
Time measures us all,
Time allows us to fall
Almost to the ground, and grinds
Our memories for its tea.
The green whispers in passing,
Somersaulting through the landscape
Of things that grow and are still
Moving in their sleep. Time passes —
In the quiet and the loudness of streets
Time beats all things alive into submission,
It waits for no-one. No-one can touch
The liquid breath eroding the structures
We built and believed in. Time
Passes. Listen. Count the flowing seconds
That give your life its green-ness.
Your trajectory by time cuts small arches
Bouncing off the divine into a world hitherto unknown.