When the memories of dewdrops
are so short as to be overlooked
between a fallen tear
and an autumn leaf,
how do we judge time?
My old ways have changed,
but the new still go as newly born
and gentle fairies,
striking gold in the oddest
of circumstance and time.
Happy to be here though the Mara
still and always laughs joyfully
in offering reprieves.
It is the nature of night to be contrary.
It is the blessing of life and of time.
When the dark droplets fall unguarded
the ways of thunder feel more like home
again, I am leaving with the shifting tide.
Again I am tickled with the promise
of time.
