The Trouble with Time

I have trouble
with time.
It is constantly sneaking
away from me,
hiding in the folds of a book,
under a cup of coffee
or behind a daydream

Like a cat,
it stays just out of reach
until I turn my back.
Then it rubs against my legs
nearly tripping me up

Particles, sprinkled on the path,
crunch underfoot
Waves, crash into me
submerge me,
knocking me down

I cannot seem to manage
this time;
so forgive me
if I keep you waiting

9 thoughts on “The Trouble with Time

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