There is Still Time

© 2012 Rob Krabbe

There is still time.

I look into her face,

my eyes drill deep.

I'm burning, and blurry;

tired and weary, and

it's an endless road.

Oh yes though, I travel

the path, blinking away

the sand and fire to go

where I have to go.

One by one, by one,

the minutes tick away.

Into the melancholy.

My foolish old heart

hopes, and I sing, because

hope is what there is today.

Her hands, so small and thin;

she dances and spins,

breathes, breaths,

. . . breaths.

There is time, sure,

but there is love, so I

lay back and breathe too,

close my eyes and breathe.

And I've heard this before,

And now it's like a new birth.

A pristine moment, a morning

walk in the cool, mountain air:

Without joy.

Without anger.

Without hope.

Without love,

breathing is nothing but a clock.