Even your photos now rush by, receding in a blur.
Only the young will tell you that life is long.
It's four below today, earth crunching underfoot;
your grave is everywhere, your memory long.
Do we measure time merely by its absence?
In winter we can see that our breath is not so long.
The forest reminds us that it's ok to be lost,
though there must be a reason we came along.
We'll never know the last time for anything.
I cross the room slowly, my daughter grows long.
If there is no time, there is none to be lost,
and love has been holding us all along.
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