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