Time is a hummingbird,
building its nest, laying its eggs,
dipping its beak into flowery deeps;
a shimmering prayer, hovering in the air.
Time is a snake,
sliding over the sand, laying its eggs,
and in some fog-filled fen,
stalking its prey; a writhing dare
slithering into its lair.
But eternity is a lizard,
perched on a rock,
that is old and hard and black -
a four-legged peon,
Time's escort through endless eons.
In an infinitude of sand,
I wondered, could I touch it?
Would it care?
Gently I stretched out my trembling hand.
But the lizard vanished,
into the silent land.
He was gone. Yet, had I almost
touched the flat, dry living hide,
of the stuff of forever?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.