Poem 20150709

everything slows down
the hands of clocks
the stretching of shadows
the rustle of wind
the grumble of voices
the songs of birds
the roar of cars
the arc of planes in the sky

everything slows and everything takes a little longer
a little longer to get from a to b
from here to there
everything slows

except for the beating
the beating of the heart

it continues to race
threatening to burst
in place

and what a mess that would be
who would clean that up
and how slowly they would respond
still caught in that drag of time
that you broke free of
for a moment
not falling
down the