They Say That Time


They say that time,
you blink,
it's gone.
And I'd suppose
that's right,
for those,
who rush and
run and
wish away.
But time, you see,
this passing time,
will wait.
Here,
on the edge of the
wooded planks.
Where,
time is kept by
changing tides.
Where,
sun meets sea in
vital bursts.
As salted waves
caress the hours,
until time,
time is but a notion for
some other day.

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