What would you use it for?
To count the days
that have been withheld from you?
The frequency of birds chirping?
Or the depth and breadth of your soul?
Is it the foundation of a myth
you ought to write
about a world of just neighbors
of fungi and lichen over trees?
A world where the streams of eternity
are unleashed to quell
an old man’s weak lungs?
Gather the leaves around a circle
and let the clock of the earth
begin its turning
toward you
toward the endless you.