Worth Of Time
time is what we are
all under the same moon.
I create a circle of reading
and sit in the little joys,
chalking up the necessary,
marking it down
on the wisdom calendar;
only what helps me to be free.
questioning activism’s worth
in the rising fevers of incels
and the evils of rashism,
put down only to rise again
and again. wasting time
undoing divine feminism,
in patriarchal culture
wars weaponizing even our space,
our autonomy. balancing presence
is a constant that ticks
to the beat only I control.
it lingers in the kiss of a granddaughter.
it plays long in the song
of the evening birds
in a redwood grove.
in the greetings on the town green
and especially at lowtide on shell beach,
when the sands slip away.
under feet, this is the wilderness alone,
the auroras of the roots of creed.
feeling the infinite under the stars,
trying to gather all that is wasted
on the funky floor,
shaking others to this reality,
praising grief that spurs me on,
I transform in the dance of holiness.
in the window beyond space
reveling in gifts of delight,
its sustenance, the waters.
I am time.
the moon passes through
the shadow of the earth,
what is the worth of time?