a luxury I cannot afford

but as we approach the future
with our eyes bathed in tangerine light
hopeful, golden children
from a crushed fig night,
we will remember to forget
the instant we were born
and only look forward
to the moment we are born again
descending from the lofty heights
of bare humanity
to become more than what all men can see
but what they can touch and know:
Lovers in a great cathedral
carved from rock salt and resolve
Soldiers in the heat of battle
fighting for their souls
Saints within the tiny places
filling cracks with prayers and
intercession
and the lessons we learn in our new lives
will trickle down
and once or twice land upon
our passing shadow selves
until we realize that time is not a luxury at all
but a simple means to measure
the aforementioned fall

Ah, to write without time is...