View From My Window
If I Could Give You All the Hours
I write about words written on cold slabs of stone,
and then put them in my pocket for safekeeping.
Time flies joyously like a clock without a face,
and I take it out of my pocket on
certain occasions and look at it when I feel down.
Time is speeding up, Words slow down,
literature knows nothing of numbers or Time.
If I could pull Time out of its socket and give you
all the hours, if I could make the flowers grow for you
in the time it takes to cook Minute Rice;
if I could make the Earth spin around the universe
instead of around the Sun…
Words slow down, they turn like numbers on a dial,
and the sun turns celestially like a ghost in outer space.
and then put them in my pocket for safekeeping.
Time flies joyously like a clock without a face,
and I take it out of my pocket on
certain occasions and look at it when I feel down.
Time is speeding up, Words slow down,
literature knows nothing of numbers or Time.
If I could pull Time out of its socket and give you
all the hours, if I could make the flowers grow for you
in the time it takes to cook Minute Rice;
if I could make the Earth spin around the universe
instead of around the Sun…
Words slow down, they turn like numbers on a dial,
and the sun turns celestially like a ghost in outer space.
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If I Could Give You All the Hours
If I Could Give You All the Hours
