Counting down days.
07.27.17 – Formula’d
They’ve missed the mark on making dates. I would have expected a sweet surprise but those calendars just don’t cut it anymore. We had put candles on a cake baked two weeks back not recognizing we’d missed the mark. There was something so pronounced about punctuality and yet it ran on the dependency that we could train ourselves to find someone else’s frame with decent precision. I’ve been off the page for sometime, my sun somewhat removed from their own. I was always watching the day end when theirs already ran for fluffy pastures. Now I’m looking at an alarm that’s missed the mark by more than hours; it’s weeks overdue. I couldn’t even start the math that had me mixing the ides and the kalends and ending up here, so near to nothing.
The crowd was crowing in unison, a custom come calling with a chorus of unknowns joining without proper prompt. I might have been upset to think I’d gotten the year wrong; you marked it by score, two and no more. I couldn’t recall which age we were living in, if these were halcyon days or if we had already had a couple thousand to tick off in the common era. We were too busy checking the work from monks, mad kings, and prophets that wanted to realign the timeline from the very beginning of their blusters. They couldn’t find a good consensus between the arguments of gods, the stars, and visions. Even still the dispute is running on scale too large to ripple through our lifetime; we’d be just a speck on the wave, surfing deep along with it rather than having it be felt as a span.
I’d wanted to know the truth of the dust on your bones, to see the star-stuff that clung desperately together to make you. You had been born from it, sprouting beyond all those lives that came before and we didn’t have the language to say what the sand was worth or what was left it. We were charioting along, rickety and uncontrolled, on a trajectory that also sputtered with inconsistency. I’d missed a moment, it became more than days and stretched to regret that might steal years. Tradition was propping up the measurement but it all seemed flimsy. You didn’t seem to mind at all, smiling and clearing a bright wish from our minds with but a breath. You came only with gratitude, lacking worry on when’s, and wanted nothing more than to be right here, now.