Time is a Jewel

I painted a scene on my wall

I saw in last night's dream, and

in the daylight there is nothing

that escapes me: the birth of an

oriole in its nest, a scent carried

in the wind, forgotten memories

that have faded away like newsprint

in the sun, and I pause to listen to

what the wild birds say. Lost feathers

sway in their own time low in 

the heavens, airborne cottonwood

seeds so puffy in their idyllic flight

I long to catch in the cage of my

hands, my heart wakening before

the hours of sunset come, a space

where there is no sound except for

the resonant timbre of crystal glass

when tapped with my thumb. I savor

the minutes that melt away, memorize

how time ripens the earth's natural

beauty while the world moves by at 

an eternity's pace, and in my lens

time is a jewel you can't keep in

a box, but to hold onto like a friend.