An Uneasy Measure Poem by Joan Woodbridge

Time
the uneasy measure
we lay upon unfettered infinity

forgetting
we run innocently
through lily beds and grape arbors
to the ashes of the ruined mill
across the millstream
to the bending grasses of the untamed orchard

forgetting
that Time is measured
not so much by dark and light
as by the relentless beat of Shiva's drum:
the unaccountable and uncounted beating of our hearts
 
and Time too
forced to exist
forgets
runs heedlessly beside us
hiding in plain sight
 
remembering
poses the bewildering question
Who owns Time?
 
If it is so
and I believe it is so
that we remain responsible
for what we create
what, then, is our obligation toward Time?
 
remembering
locates us in two worlds
How may we stand sturdily in both? Joan Woodbridge 12.13.2013 edited 5.25.16