Time Flows

I analyze the viscosity of time,

its rate of flow,

its tendency to stick in tricky places,

and sometimes stop

while I hold my breath

and wait.

Who can say how long it takes

to become adept
in time’s meanderings?

For though it appears to run

in patterns

(its own peculiar channels),

in truth it follows paths
of its own devising:

Random

Rambling

Rampant

If hours were edible,
I’d choke them down.

If bankable,
I’d save them in a jar

(under my bed)

like private fireflies,
just for me.

Instead, time flows,

through my fingers and my hair,

out the back door,
across my yard,

vitreous and virulent,

hard to measure.

But still I attempt
(in spite of everything)

to rate the viscosity of time.

This is a Three Word Wednesday post.