I missed yesterday due to an unexpected flare of a recurring illness I deal with from time to time, and it didn’t seem like a great idea (on the other hand, maybe it would have been fantastic) to write while under the influence of narcotic pain medication. So I plan to make up a day this week and write two (although not today, because of aforementioned narcotic pain medication). I vaguely followed the prompt given out by NaPoWriMo.
TIME EXISTS EVEN IF WE DON’T MEASURE IT
What is a minute? A piece of our attention
chopped with a dull knife, divided equally.
What is a day? A circle, gold-toned
and imperceptible to feet. Only our skins
know the warmth, only our eyes know
the sting of a cloudless noon sky.
What is a month? Crescents
arcing across, beads on a string,
silver like an ocean.
What is a year? Beyond our attention,
longer than breath. A swallower of minutes.