Father said clocks slay time. He said time is dead
as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels;
only when the clock stops does time come to life.
- William Faulkner, The Sound and the Fury
Time is dead -- frozen in a place we
cannot reach, forever placed beyond
Time is place -- being our
desires and fears, passions and tears.
What is the source of our being?
Can we know what we are as the birds depart,
gone with the leaves?
We are left with the frozen crystals of ice --
a replacement for life.
The perfection of a a triangle is like our being.
But where can we find that perfection?
Is it only an imaginary construct?
We see in movement
the source of being, place and time.
Do not we change,
and in our changing become?
We become the thing we were not before.
We create our being. We are alive
with motion and change and being.
from Geography Lessons, January 1994 (2004)