Time must have passed languidly once-

the smooth uninterrupted stream of sand

slipping down the sinuous curve

of a cool glass bulb sole mark of its
passage

drift of grit gradually gathering

marking time in its accumulation

unnoticed as the tiny mound expanded-

the slow diurnal drift of the sun

timing days in hours passed

its steady cycle marked by transient

shift of shadow on dial while night

undivided and unobserved slipped away.

How I yearn for a time when day

passed into darkness, arrived again

when summer passed into fall and winter

warmed into spring, unmarked

save by the arrival of the calves and the
inevitable

crumbling of the crisped brown leaves-

a time remembered and winsomely mourned

that never existed but in its passing.