Oscillation of Time
Stacked on shelves forever still
the objects of a life,
Things forgotten, left to the
sure fade of slow decay.
Entombed in silent abandon with
a shroud of dusty grey,
The six point wrench unturned,
the dulled tang of the Barlow knife.
Hung in suspended oscillation the
sprinkler dry,
Park seeds unplanted, weeds long
tenure taking the upper hold,
Silently arcs the bow over
emptied pots of gold,
Long the drought of times high
parched cry.
The coiled garden hose hisses by
the galvanized well.
In knee deep briars the sprinkler
is laid.
A turn of brass and a trickling
sputter is made.
Around the pulse of water
emerges a living
magical spell.
As the first squirt from the
stream touches my eye,
Again I am the child time took
quickly away.
In prism's of rainbow beads again
I play,
Caught in the abandon of
moments swirling by.
Too soon the sputter and the
loss of prime
The thorn kisses to reveal a
rusting red,
As dust and blood mingle on my
dizzied head,
Wasn't it grand to dance all soaked in suspended time?
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