in our measure of time there are curious circles filling our days,
numbered moments marked by the scars of transiting lights,
heavens moguls of tribulation 'n plight, that give or take away –
though I spend my time, circling the horizon of my mind,
seeing her in time 'n space as a congruence of my need,
the sifting of my sieve, she is on the face of it, a timeless piece,
a swinging pendulum of rhythms sway,
a clock that circumscribes my day,
and in every night as I watch her lay,
time stops and takes my breath away
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