The Longing Now

Time passes, in achingly long moments,
slowed to a stand-still it pauses,
sighs, pinches off a fluff of lint,
waits to compute    out        e a c h                s  e  c  o  n  d  ,
triple-checking the moment for accuracy, in duplicate carbon copy,
then holds a meeting, a final tally, a nap
(dreaming on the prudent drying of brittle-brown porcelain saucers),
followed by a wake-up herbal tea, sweetened with slow honey, and,
Pardon me, might you have any Wite-Out I could borrow?,
and then—finally—finally—
Time painstakingly announces that single moment, on the clock:
The one hun-dred nine-ty sev-en mil-lion, four hun-dred sev-en-ty eight thou-sand, six hun-dred and nine-ty ninth sec-ond.
Only then does it proceed to repeat the entire cycle, for the next second in line,
only more careful this time.

(This long now not to be confused with The Long Now’s 10,000-year clock thingie-dingie.)