(Poem) Time, Running

A brand new poem, exclusive to my mailing list. This piece is called Time, Running, and focuses on the difficulties of living in the moment, particularly during a pandemic.

Time, Running

the sky, sealed
with orange, folds across
the distant hills.

we are just an exhale
of light from morning

but i am holding
my breath.

look down, instead,
and pretend we can stop
the day from leaving.

pretend we can bury
the rivers

and hold them, still,
from moving.

———

They tell you that every moment is precious, but I don’t think the truth is quite this straightforward. I think those moments are only really valuable once they have already gone; I think we have a tendency to love in retrospect.

I have been having a hard time recently with attempting to live more in the moment. No matter how hard I try, it feels like everything is always in the process of leaving. Every second I want to enjoy is already gone by the time I close my fingers around it.

This has been particularly true during the pandemic, and during the subsequent lockdowns. I am more aware of the passing of time, recently, and the desire to seize the days I have left has become precariously balanced against a wanting for all of this to be over.

It feels like I’m either wishing the day away, or begging it not to leave.

I think time has a way of moving differently as you get older. Suddenly it is not the limitless thing it once was, and you begin to understand that nature has a rather bleak sense of humour.

This, more than anything else, is what this poem is about, and I thought maybe it would resonate with some of you.

Yours,

Blake

———

My new chapbook, The Things We Leave Behind, is out now. You can grab your copy here, with worldwide delivery.