We're each of us a passing breath

We’re each of us a passing breath.

We're each of us a box
which lies on the lawn
as god moves from one day
to the next.

We’re each of us a can on the shelf

or a novel in hand

—suspended.

We’re each of us a pebble skimmed across the ocean roof.

We’re each of us the rolling caravans

—the convoys of history: arriving, looking, leaving.

May we take our time

like history takes its time,

     like the tent

     —pierced to the skin of the earth—

     takes its time.

May we take our time

as when we watch our parents.
We’re each a passing breath.