The Arch of Years

I once measured time
In miles per hour
In the hurry and gone days
Of youth.

Those days are spent.

Now I measure time
Not by device
Whether the needle
On a dashboard
Or the hands of a clock.

How without understanding
Are numbers.

These days
Time is reckoned
By who is with me
In the cooling atmosphere
Of years.

Even the world measures time
By BC and AD
In the Presence of the One
Who created time.

I account for my days
By the hands that cover mine
By the warmth of the body beside me.

I know time
By those
Who speak kindly to me
Who know the me beneath my skin.

I value time
In the oneness of friends
The giving of lovers
The hopes of shared lives.

Even the word "watch"
Suggests a kind of tyranny
A thing that supervises
And commands us.

I have retired my time piece.
I know where I am in each day
By the transitory light
By the rhythm within my body.

When I must consult a clock
I do so reluctantly
With a sideways glance
Taking it more as an opinion
Than a declaration of fact.

I need not urge you to do the same.
You will.
When you pass ‘neath the arch of years
You will esteem time differently.
You will.

I’ll be waiting down the road.
I’m not going anywhere.
When you find me…
And you will…
Let’s let time spend us
Instead of us spending time.

It’s far better that way.