Contemplating Rocks

Contemplating these rocks. . . these ancient boulders

those millions of years. . . those multi-layered strata of time.

I notice, as magasphere. . . tumbles down onto mini-island . . .

and many islands . . . as Magaspection crumbles. . . to minispection:

here. . . now, in my own space. . . my own time. . . me her now in

Time. . . whatever that is. . . as this civilized mind time-travels . . .

there he is on an island . . . methinks it is on Malta faraway, far back

in Time. . . whatever time is. . . on some Mediterranean shore

shaking off snakes. . . Paul of Tarsus. No. . . wait. . . not that Paul.

Methinks its the only-living-boy-in-New York-Paul. . . when the

New York Times said: God is dead. . . but (but it was only for

a couple of days, y’all) . . . anyway I was thinking of that other Paul:

“a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries” Paul (I remember, as

I sit in the water of this island). . . but the island speaks its mind

in sounds of silence. . . and the lapping of the cosmos . . .

on the shores of Time. . . these shores of rocks broken and cast down

from the peaks of planetary history. . . the heights of planetary

accumulation tumbling to the waters below. . . as rocks tumbled

down long ago onto this shore, long ago. . . and yet still . . .

they tumble down to. . . where ocean defeats rock . . .in the

Sands of Time: rock, rock and more rock. . . long before Bo and

Chuck and Buddy and Elvis rocked around the clock.

Clock? Oh what’s a clock? a clock, by any other name,

or any orb by another name, would tick as neat-ly . . .

would click and trickle time, as forlornly as a weeping planet

falling apart in Eternity. . . whatever that is. . . Selah.

Glass half-Full