has only hands and feet.
Who has not lived within his hour of space
and etched it with his face,
as portrait of the sun
reflects the solar one,
is only shape and dust.
All This, Before
I RACED, I rushed, I ran,
to catch the empty hand of time—
Before the wind, the blowing wind,
This breathless gift.
I willed, I worked, I wept,
To melt the frozen face of time—
Before the sun, the burning sun,
This frenzied bone.
I drank, I danced, I dared,
To tempt the stony foot of time—
Before the rain, the driving rain,
This raptured flame.
I leaped, I laughed, I loved,
To ease the burdened heart of time—
Before the dust, the settling dust,
This flesh and blood.