conversation


time approached and said,
“son, you are a fool.”

i said,
“what color would you be if you weren’t so blue?”
and my watch fell off.

she laughed,
stepped closer,
mumbled something in my ear,
smiling, humming.


i reached for my watch but
she scooped it up and broke it,
setting the numbers free.

they danced in the sunlight of their liberation.

“only time,” she mused, as she skipped off through the brambles and sunsets.








conversation

I was standing at the Santa Barbara mission, a place I pass by all the time. It was a post card perfect day, clear blue skies, the ocean a deep haunting blue, the islands in the distance seeming so close. I suppose I was getting back to work after lunch. Often I would stop, wander the large grassy areas or meander in the rose garden. There was that moment of, “oops, I better get to work,” as I checked my watch to see if I was running late. At that moment, I imagined this conversation. Time is a construct we use to accomplish things. It’s important and we universally agree on it. But occasionally, with the scent of fresh cut grass in your nose, or looking at the islands, mountains or flowers, frankly, sometimes time doesn’t matter.