A herd of shaggy deadlines,
has trampled another day,
digital clock to my right,
analog to my left--
the watch on my arm
an urban guerrilla
in life's punctual war.
Lunch is not always 
the length of a sandwich.

On the dark road home
something gleams in the headlights--
broken glass, not the wild eyes 
of something for whom time is not
the nattering of seconds and minutes 
but one more sunset, one more full moon.