Lazy Aging

Seemed a lazy aging local time—
a long...slow...Newtonian apple fall
from this plot’s golden height.

Seemed a ponderous passing of days
since meadows waved flaxen arms,
and a silver brook backed up
to form a beaver pond.

Relativity stretched summer and fall
longer than were—
a most protracted, agreeable, entertaining,
leisurely, passage.

Suddenly!
The speed-of-light funeral march—
seemingly—arrived unsung.

“What is time?” asked I
(scientifically, philosophically, angrily)
of passing wind—
who (if anyone) should know.

Who does time think it is:
taking responsibility upon itself
(without notice) disappearing so?

Yet, signs unveiled themselves all along—
impressed on lives contingent—
noticing.

This piece was featured in Volume 3, Issue 1. Click here to explore other pieces from this issue.