Arrow of Time

Arrow of Time

Time is an illusionist; if only I could delay its spectacular vanish.
Time is gravity; if only I could cease to be earthbound. 
To stretch it, slow it, 
Thwart all its constructs, defy its constraints,  
and name it irrelevant. 
Let’s relax the binding fists of Time; there is grace in an open palm. 
Have you ever tried to hold a moment? 

Cast it to harbor our most private selves,
Bend it to fit our most immediate needs,
Edify it to fulfill our eventual desires.
Forego its rigidity:
Let nothing tick in its perfect synchrony. 
Simply, let it unwind. 

Tick, tock:
A casual glance in the rearview unmasks shadows of cowboys and spacemen,
frozen in the square of a deckle-edge photograph,
and I can’t help but smile.
Tick, tock:
Milestones curve in the stretch of time’s cosmic dilations.
A star explodes to light the odyssey.

Let’s begin:
Listen to the oscillations 
Count cycles
Promise memories
Sing out loud
Recite poems
Dance

The arrow of time has no direction; 
its unbridled ambition maintains its own compass.
Marvel at the ever-growing void where uninterrupted possibility lives.
A tangible hope begins to define tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.
A moment rests on my open palm, tentative.
Our breath, our bodies, our beings, an intertwined double helix, sway drunkenly as we collide into the End of Everythings.
And so, please, 
Let's not miss each other.