CLOCKING

– Robert L. Temple

past seventy

greedy of days
I gobble hours
oh months, oh years
be mine
delirious in experience
never enough
my selfish drive
so long to be
I spoon the minutes
to my lips
I chew events

I stare
where colors blend
I strain for sounds
that voices sing
I put my nose
my dog nose of a nose
into the air
the bright historical air
my roots dig
into worm-trailed
nutrient of fat
solutioned earths
with news for twigs
bristled upon wind