My arms shake and my heart races.
Time swoops down from the sky,
flaunting its feathers in front of my face
It grazes my fingers as it flies.
I reach up to grab its wings,
to get a grasp on Time,
my fingers slip, I lose my grip
And my skin starts to sting.
And so I lay back on the grass.
Flowers tickle my neck as I
look up at the clouds.
Up at Time and watch it pass.
My stinging hand can still feel the way
its feathers brushed against my skin.
My hand lies on the ground,
realizing how lonely it’s been.
So occupied with catching Time.
Afraid to look away for even a second.
Afraid to let it fade from mind.
Afraid Death would suddenly beckon
me forward and rip me from life.
But I look over at you.
Admiring the way your freckles
decorate your face,
while Time still mocks me overhead.
Now the cares I give are few.
My hand now longed to grip
something that wouldn’t slip.
Something that wouldn’t leave my fingers
sliced and bleeding
nor painfully alone and pleading.
So here we lay on the grass.
Your hand is laced in mine,
looking up at the blue
as Time flew.
Living and breathing through time.