Sweet volume of ages none will ever

Stream of abundance moments to measure

Dripping sky drops more than flower my breath

Our time is a deluge an ocean depth




Nest hallowed I cradle and lift to gain

If that I could sift all joy rinsing pain

Arms pass gently an unending notion

Of a circular etching devotion




Yet time is counted not in quantity

Laced with doubts and bouts of epiphany

Memory a calculous in balance

Weigh the rotting lot from the live talents




Better an inhale deep with regret

The sum of goodness and pleasure we net