Witching the Stars #41
Updated: Nov 1
I catch in hand, toad-like, this hour,
and like a toad, it hops away.
I grasp the minutes, slipping, dewy -
from my palms, takes flight the day.
The past - departed, yet I see it,
rich with detail, scrolling sly.
And future dreams, though non-existent
cast their spell and charm my eye.
Where, then, dwell I? What, my country?
Nothing I can comprehend.
So. Glide I through rough seas untroubled,
watching time, my vessel bend.