This bright-painted, winged day flies
faster than my eyes can follow
as I swim in these slow circles–
I reach for the hour to hold
but my hand grasps only shadows
the next hour already half gone.
Is this how the end will be
racing slowly to catch the present
when the final moment has gone?
And coming out the other side
will we have the gift of sight
able to be in time all time?
Then I choose these shining days
I will turn toward the Sun
and sing love to the Moon.