-the unofficial alternative to understanding time-

the day was done, but time in its deliberate attitude

hung around at the table tidying-up, leaving trace amounts of itself

which confessed to its presence.

there's something inherently wrong with the persistent nature of time.

it appears at the front door disguised as a guest.

it waits long after the joyous wedding reception for the pre-doomed

bride and groom to tear asunder the promise of the document.

and since its beginning, it decomposes everything in its wake.

one should approach time with caution.

it holds grudges, imposing severe penalties when disrespected by waste.

but in the here and now, time belongs to me; it stays by my side.

it lives here. it will die with me. it's personal. it has my eyes.

in time I retired to bed leaving notations for a poem on the table

for my early consideration.

in the light of morning I read what I jotted-down the night before

and although the table was otherwise orderly, the poem left upon it

was a disorganized mess and it was left to me to put a permanent end to it.

time said.