Cartwheeling
went the grand-
father clock’s
arms & hands.

Along each ceiling
above the strands
of unstarts unstops
in A Timeless Land.

Where waters reach
wrapping wisteria around
themselves in every vine
a wetter version of a minute.

There, solsticed leaves
untrapped grow free & proud
& houred grapes squeeze syned
durations to taste like winely spirit.

Spans do not run late
& do not stand still
for they have no limbs
nor face to tell.

We mere mortals
with time to kill
the enchanted incant-
ation of our spell;

“What time is it?!”

“Make sure you’re
there on time!!”

In nighttime’s journey
to A Timeless Land
we don’t hear the clang-
ing bells that chime
empty questions
or commands.

You are no longer
a slave to master Time
when eyes do close
with slumber’s sand
your soul there is whole
ev’ry second of your while.

© poormansdreams