Time is Ticking

Vials of dreams melt and disappear like the last fall of winter snow. I am there. Time dances on our fingertips, a tease as we cannot grasp it's tiny wings. We can only wait, and do so again soon after it leaves our possession. We count on time, each number, hour, minute, second. We schedule it, sometimes bend it. Mould and Sculpt it. Paint and write it. Friend and Foe.