Time, my tethered umbilical cord, is a rope
To the places and people I am living for and to my hope
Disconnects me from my longings and from my home
Sees me come and go on little voyages — distant shores

Breath of our lungs — like wetted paper cups — contract
And expand in their dual little witnesses of the facts
Are my words watering the roots of your heart, or is there lack?
Cause the birds we’re setting free daily out of our mouths come back

I heard it say: All flesh is grass
It devours with a mouth that never fasts
Do we build our lives on anything that lasts?

Time for seven billion of us to learn love in place
Of the gentle caress and ease of wickedness — saving face
Time for these drying bodies to jump in, get wet
Cause the river is rushing — wants to swallow us —
The river of death