A bird flew into my hand from a bush
that was the first clue
The second was next, just ticking in space
without rhyme or reason,
the first look fell short
the second ticked it's way in
and not even the reader
can shut off the meter
as time was sliced
spirally into space
The minutes arrived and swallowed them up in an hour
then days, months and years. Centennial packages in the library of time
departed into the endless
blocking the escape into tomorrow
Go there, you're there, look it up and down
examine the seconds you messed around
don't worry about the others their with their mothers
still nursing their sight, after the flight of the bird in a bush
into the waiting hand of man
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