Keeping Time


During that season, I stopped wearing a watch
and started keeping time in another way,
more like the hours that sink around a pond.
And here too, where having stood near
this credenza on several thousand days,
I’ll say this, that love is more lovely over time.

Only the moment is thought to be real,
but the here is now and then,
and see what comes into the present:
this worn bandana is fragrant of pine,
of your neck and my neck, smoke,
leaves, and dazzled rocks in streams.
Must we train ourselves to be as doves,

blinking pink eyes on each new moment,
astonished at the rough concrete ledge,
even at our own coo and bill?
The heart happens like a canyon, worn
breathtaking by a river at turns
a rushing course, at turns a silver wander.

Now and then I roam this precinct thinking:
Where did I stand when he brought this
flowering plant? Was I wearing a dress?
Was the light orange-red or was the shade
red-orange, and did I say, How did you
find the time. How beautiful the crusted snow
and here inside, these dark shining leaves.

First published in Green (Graywolf Press, 1989); revised 2024
Homage: Travel Stories & Essays | Poems | Contents At-A-Glance