Ashore

            As I closed my eyes in the early evening light,
            attempting sleep,
            lying on the floor as ever I am—
            I heard the wind blowing outside my window—
            but I imagined it was the tide coming in,
            and I imagined myself washed up on the shore.
            And I had been thinking:
            what do people speak of when they speak of time?
            Time is a length.
            Time is a distance.
            Time is a longing.
            Time is my whole life behind me,
            all the things I've never done.
            Time is the space between people.
            Time is the waiting for a time that never comes,
            because it's always passing…
            Not just a length—
            a heavy, heavy weight—
            the weight of years…
            Time is a cruel tide.
            Let me sink, Time.
            But you wash me ashore…