Minutes Drip

Minutes drip,as dew drops slip

and cast themselves as errant ships,

upon the breezy breezes blown.

Four corners globe must be their home.

 

For what their altrue purpose be,

if not to satisfy the tree,

but slip their morning mooring strings

and think themselves of selfish things?

 

And hours: blocks of granite tears

make up the twisted twisting years.

They make no bones but laugh out loud

and play the fool for foolish crowds.

 

And what they be unto the tree,

but tethers tethered mercilessly.

They bend or brake the faithful sprout

and crowd the nurtured rootlings out.

 

Uproot and move!  Thy faithful sigh.

Let not a minute pass you by

but whet thy leaves; a sharpened pick

and strike the moment to the quick.

 

Poured out upon the granite hour

and fix the moment of the flower

that blooms upon this craggy sea,

this autumn's colored hopes for me.