Just This (Poem)

as a child I learned that time

was not the order claimed by the clock

but some more malleable thing, viscous and pliant

like gumbo clay after a hard summer rain

the afternoon hours hung across the sky

dripping their minutes into the hot humid air

so slowly that they stretched into forever

and even the restless ocean became still

I let my mind quieten then, became eternal

again and again with each breath

found the end and begin of all creation

no birth no in between life no death

just this one moment, just this