I remember once,
When night drained down the funnel of the moon
And into another boyhood/manhood day.
The tipsy, fat sop of a sun heralded nothing in particular.
I was remote.
Time lapped at the edge of clocks
But I, too sleep stained and womb warm
Saw nothing in the ancient sun but a newborn day.
It did not last.
Such days are not for keeping
Like cat’s eyes, dominos, wire things and plastic
That fad fade, traded and lost.
All those shimmering, frenzy-empty afternoons
Spilled on to the sand to seep beyond knowing.
I do not mourn them.
Why should I?
They were mine to spend,
A fist-full of coppers at the fair.
A joyous rumble of a time it was
Until that one morning when nothing
Spoke to me and I awoke,
The taste of time in my mouth and I was grown