There was a time when there was time—

time was everywhere—escorting falling leaves,
polishing puddles so we could jump back in.

We’d romp back home with buckets of
moments in our rainboots, moments
stretched across our faces, moments
seized by Daisy’s tongue and wagging tail.

Time jammed our bloated clocks—see, every
second contained sixty
minutes so thick the sun had to plough
through the day like an icebreaker—

so much time was crammed
in the S’s and R’s and double-O’s
of mama’s bedtime stories seasoned
with Daisy’s bedside wheezing

and the small hours of the night were fat and full of stars.

In the dawning snow I unburied a thirteenth year.
Then the vet said it’s time
and mama told Daisy good night
with a very thin double-O
and all the clocks in our
lives started ticking.