I have no time for this reflection
on mountains, sea and woodland creatures,
and far-off outposts that have heard
and seen the signs
of epic strain. I have no time to dwell
on her atmosphere,
or our work
to live in communion
with her tides and rhythms,
cries and hungers, pain and longing
for love. I have no time.
There is no time.
Poem #22 of 30 for National Poetry Writing Month April 2016