the golden hour-glass

The time slipping by almost soundlessly like the click of the keys on this keyboard -
un-returnable -
is like the hair I cut from my daughter;
6 inches of time swept up and thrown
out
like we could clean it up, and the last 6 months of her life are easily disposed of, leaving her nicely
trimmed.

Yesterday I watched the fall sun throw its light at the amber fields
under the indigo sky of
rain that was yet unspent,
and the stubble
gathered and gathered the light
forming, condensing, sweetening it
to a thick gold syrup to be thrown upwards
and turn to tiny shards of glass
light
flying randomly between heaven and
earth
pure, distilled, white
gulls of the pre-winter exit of light and wine colour...

The telephone poles were so distinct in the thrown back light
like a row of nails hammered up through the earth, but
missing the stud, so
uselessly, and
straight - trying to reach the dark blue clouds
cloaking us
and holding in the sun for a few more minutes -
holding back the night with their
lovely darkness.

And that was a sliver of time that is cut and swept
out, and my children’s lovely grins, with their gap teeth and
exaggerated expressions will grow out, too,
and be trimmed from my eyes so that I see different sights and hear different messages and
this reality that is so present will be gone and done and
not worth keeping...
the tail ends of the days so lovely, so
beautiful.

My heart hurts knowing its temporariness and that I cannot capture one smile, one beam of light, one
shard-gull -
one
word spoken in all earnestness
straight from your heart to mine -
click.

Oh,
the angels live so differently.