cordon off our days to please it,
slice events into segments to appease it,
regulate our movements to its circle dance.
And, even knowing its artificial construct,
we define success and failure by our capacity
to be what we should be when time tells us it's time.
I have not had my big love yet.
Have never gone to sleep perfectly nestled in peace.
I'm late for this, so tardy that no one is left to cheer me home.
It was just January. I still remember the snow.
A month ago it was 1995. I can picture the VW Rabbit,
the rows of day lilies, the upside down tree.
I have not had my big love yet. It's twenty past eight;
the night is drawing to a close. Yesterday, it was twelve years ago,
we went to the movies and I could feel your elbow
sharing the armrest. When I looked at you,
I knew you would be beautiful when you grew old.
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