Joy is coming ’round the face
upon the thing that measures time.
Beauty comes with reverent grace
(worthy, never, is my rhyme).
Truly, going, are my words
to the wonder of my hope—
fluttering wings, a flock of birds,
perching on a tiqvah rope.
Comings, goings, whisper/shout
it came down once born above.
Coming in, and going out,
this gift from heaven: ever-love . . .
“When asked what it is, Einstein said, ‘Time is that which clocks measure.'”
Photograph © 2018 Timothy Waugh