THE THIEF

A vein pulses

at your temple—

it signals the pressing things

you have somehow, some why to get to

I would ask you

“Linger yet a while

For friendship’s sake”

But your eyes have already turned

To other places

Other happenings

That have no part in me

“Someday,” you say,

“when we have time”—

“There are so many things

I’ve stored up,” you say

Ah, my dear friend,

The dust of dissolution

Has already seeped into that storehouse

There are those who think

Time is the great robber

But time

is not the thief here