Time Glosa

Ah, fill the cup: -- what boots it to repeat
How time is slipping underneath our feet:
Unborn tomorrow, and dead yesterday,
Why fret about them if today be sweet!
~ Rubaï #39, Omar Khayyam


The tides of youth have washed off from the shore.
Like butterflies we flare. Retreat more. More.
Ah, fill the cup: -- what boots it to repeat
what’s out of reach, whatever its allure?

The world stretches too far beyond our ken
of wild roses, lavender till then--
How time is slipping underneath our feet:
beating sparrow winged questions: How? When?

For like Narcissus, anyone can fall
into the deeps of self in woe this small:
Unborn tomorrow, and dead yesterday,
drowning in somewhere, lost in not at all.

Seeing the face of love is knowing God.
Peonies and the tree line, paths we trod.
Why fret about them if today be sweet?
Kiss time in moments, disdain your facade.