Life in .1

Once I lived a life so small, one could

One did measure it every six minutes, until time

Warped and changed, melding, molding, falling in

On itself, a clock

Without a big hand, ticking and doling

out life’s moments in

Lilliputian cups.

Until I said enough, until I had enough, until I had nothing left.

But six minutes.

Then on the day, that day, that rain cold day when I

Learned to fly, fingers clutching his mane in wonderment,

My child, my love, my friend, my soul’s confident, leapt

Off the ground, and without planning,

I followed, finding time stood still while on his back, and the

Only sound is the beat of his hooves marked my passage in space.

We flew and time healed, mending, changing, reconfiguring, until the

smallest moment became so large, the

fearsome jow resounded with every flick of his tail.


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