time has no urgency
it stands in long lines
waiting for a drink of now
thirst in silence
seconds, shoulder to shoulder
one long shadow of cueing
sinuous in the mind
as if forthcoming had greetings to express
but each second is faceless
shaking hands or kissing babies is passé
on a subway ride with the next minute of them
going nowhere in particular
the environment of mood
overtakes all in passing
if I name them
it soon passes as fashionable commentary
but none know themselves that way
they would all be happy as beads
in a mantra spoken softly in passing . . .
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